


It’s Not the Liquor Talking

by zizi_west



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Other, Seduction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:58:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 62,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zizi_west/pseuds/zizi_west
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hikaru Sulu had a natural air of authority and command when he briefly took the Captain’s Chair during the incident with Marcus and Khan.  Now someone wants him to take command in a more intimate setting. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Warnings: sexual conversation & content, indirect references to very mild kink.

..

Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu was one of the first Starfleet members whom you really paid attention to. You did your own job well, tried to make a good impression and show how much the Federation meant to your life. You assumed that Sulu didn't notice you much. You were wrong about that.

Sulu saw you. Spoke to you, though not right away, when you first met him at the Academy during a collaborative effort between his team of weapons experts and your own team. He smiled when you pronounced his name correctly. You listened so intently when he introduced himself that you barely heard any of the devices and machines and other people working around you. _Good to meet you, Hikaru_ , you said, using exactly the same inflection and timing he did.

Sulu always stayed calm and cool aboard the _Enterprise_ , with a hint of fire underneath. Perhaps that fire was just your wishful thinking; he was so attractive. More than cute. Handsome, really. Striking. Sexy, although you wouldn't dare to reveal your interest in him even to close friends. It wasn't love, but desire; you were old enough now to know the difference, and you didn't know Sulu well enough to love him. You wanted to remain on active duty in Starfleet, and gossip could kill a career – less quickly than a phaser blast, but it could be just as dangerous.

That last relationship you had – an affair or a fling, if you are honest about it - left you confused and sad. You look all right, still take care with your appearance. Perhaps someone will be attracted to you again someday. You try to be kind, reliable, friendly, and make intelligent conversation, but you're still invisible.

Something in you dries up. You can't flirt. During awkward moments, you wish that you had Captain Kirk's easy confidence and stubborn libido, but no luck. Sometimes you see - knowing you aren't meant to - First Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura's fingers brush together, or a tender look exchanged on the bridge. 

Once you quietly followed them down a corridor as they made their way to his cabin together, late during the ship's night after a party. Believing that they were alone, Spock had his arm around Uhura's waist as they walked. She sang softly to him, a romantic old Earth culture song. Usually you'd never invade someone's privacy that way, but your loneliness weighed heavily on you that week while some crewmates celebrated a holiday that makes people nostalgic. Jealousy had nothing to do with it; you didn't envy them. It just seemed beautiful to see the couple being so sweet with each other, a reminder that life could go on. After listening to two verses of Uhura's song floating through the ship's cool circulating air you tiptoed into a different corridor, returned to your cabin, and slept alone.

...

"You're looking really good tonight." Hikaru Sulu's thick black hair gleams in the warm, amber lights of the palatial nightclub, a venue approved by Starfleet for recreational visits by personnel visiting the planet. Sulu's beautiful dark brown eyes seem to gleam, too; a side effect of the weak mixed drink in your hand?

You're not a heavy alcohol drinker. _Cheap date, that's what you are_ , they said back in the days when you still dated. Acceptance of your lonesome state means that you've had to accept yourself as you are; you like yourself much more since you wised up. Now you easily relax and have fun without drinking. During the last few months following the incident with Marcus and Khan, you've smiled more, felt spontaneous, enjoyed being with colleagues, made more friends, become self-assured, even got promoted to a more responsible role in Starfleet. Change is good. You can almost, but not quite, stifle your yearning for safe, consensual sexual contact. That's why you feel so relaxed this evening, even after Hikaru joined your group of friends here in a dimly lit alcove, where you moved to be able to converse more easily over the sounds of music and chatter.

Eventually the friends drifted away and it was just you and Hikaru in the half-light, discussing plants, a topic that actually interests you. So it was a bit disorienting when he changed the subject from the hardiness of space-grown calendula to your appearance.

It isn't the liquor talking when you try to dull the edge of Sulu's compliment. Truth be told, you're scared, but too aroused by him to flee. Despite your progress, it's hard to break the habit of years of self-deprecation, so you try to joke.

"Thank you, but you should see me in the morning."

"Really?" Hikaru's mouth quirks up in a smile, and he leans on the side of the little alcove. "And what would I have to do to be so fortunate?"

A surprised laugh from you, then reckless speaking: "Ha! Aren't you the charmer. Take me any time, Mr. Sulu."

The invitation hangs in the air between the two of you. Unable to look away or apologize, your lips part, ready to – what will you say? Lie about wanting him, make an excuse and run? There's no time to find out. Sulu moves further into the little alcove, his shoulders blocking out the sound and noise around you. The heat of his body under his semi-formal clothing warms your fingers, which have gone cold with nervousness as you grip your glass.

Hiakru's gaze is penetrating, his voice deep and direct. "Say that again." It's not a question; it's an order.

"Sir?" you ask, as though you were back at work. Growing awareness and the oddness of the situation combine to make your reply less staccato; you draw out the word so that it sounds less like a question, more like surrender. You didn't intend to say it that way but now it's too late.

"'Sir'? Mmm." Hikaru gives you a speculative look. "I like the sound of that, too. But I want to hear you repeat your invitation. Say it."

"Take me," you say over the thump of music - grown and sexy songs for slow dancing - and the throb of your own blood in your ears. Your reply is soft, but Sulu hears it, and his answering smile is too wicked for misunderstandings.

Warm fingers slide up along your neck, grip your chin softly but firmly. "You fine, fine thing. Are you really giving me permission?"

Swallowing nervously, you're glad he isn't holding your neck anymore. Hikaru isn't a wall of hard muscle like some of the red shirted security force, but his nimble pilot's fingers are strong. "Yes. Sir."

"I prefer 'Hikaru' in situations like this, but we can play with names if that's what you like." His hands caress your shoulders, slide down your back, and you wish there was no cloth blocking the touch of his skin. "We can play other ways too – but only with your agreement. I never force anyone; I don't want you if you don't want me."

"Believe me, I want you." It feels like a light year since you've said that to anyone, and it is… liberating, energizing.

"Good." Whisking the glass out of your hand, Hikaru sets it aside, clasps your hips, and moves you further into the alcove, away from public view. Warm breath whispers over your lips. "Kiss?"

Instead of speaking you thread your fingers into his thick, glossy hair and pull his head close to yours, a response that seems to please him. Technical and navigational crew throughout the Federation have praised Hikaru Sulu's abilities as a pilot, but now you know that he's powerfully skilled in other ways. Heavens and galaxies above, the man can kiss! While he intoxicates you with his lips and tongue, somehow he slides his hand inside your clothes, stroking and pressing and making you mindlessly rock your hips against him. Then he goes for your neck, biting, sucking, and you shudder all over before he pulls away to let you both calm down for a moment.

"I've never done this before," you admit, trying to regain your breath and your composure. Some parts of your body are speeding ahead to warp drive while others feel languid and sensual.

Sulu's warm hand stills on your hip. "Virgin?"

It's a reasonable question. Starfleet includes plenty of virgins; any organization with beings from so many different planetary cultures is likely to have its share of sexual realities and identifications. Some Starfleet personnel are in long-term betrothals, bound by various sets of laws throughout the galaxy. Others use their physiology or medical means to shut down the biological drive for physical contact, reactivating it for lusty shore leaves. Still others neither need nor want sexual contact, and they appear to function as well anyone else aboard the starships. Only you seem to be cursed with this persistent need for touch.

"No. I don't usually sleep with anyone in Starfleet, and I don't do…submissive stuff." People hurt you, years ago. They didn't ask what you wanted, just told you that the hurting was the way sex really is, and that unsophisticated fools like you didn't know it. They lied to you, and they really did hurt you instead of pleasing you – causing pain to heart, body and mind.

Already you know that something's different about being with this man, a Starfleet pilot with real-life power beyond the bedroom. He's secure enough not to have to hurt someone else. Something's different about _him_ , the kind of person he is.

Sulu raises his eyebrows. "You were doing submissive stuff with me earlier. Do you really want this?"

"Ever since you took the command so well during the conflict with Marcus and Khan, I've had fantasies about you ordering me around while you sat in the Captain's chair – with my full consent, of course."

His grin relaxes both of you, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes are endearing. "Hey, you know how to make a guy feel good. Seriously, though, I can tone down the control thing if you're uncomfortable."

Giving him your best flirtatious look, you reply. "May I have one of each, please, Mr. Sulu? One vanilla, one specialty flavor?"

Sulu smiles again, but it's different, as though he's planning something. "Let's see how much energy you've got left after the first round. I prefer…active partners." Leaning down, he kisses your forehead. "Or we can just sit in the massage tub in my hotel suite after we wear each other out. Tell me when you're ready to go."

…

Thank you for taking time to read; please review! It helps me to know what works well with a story like this one.

Note: The line "And what would I have to do to be so fortunate?" is adapted from an anecdote told in a documentary about jazz that I watched years ago (perhaps it was Ken Burns' masterwork "Jazz" ? I forget). The line was attributed to composer, bandleader, and handsome man Duke Ellington. A friend and bandmate of his recalled overhearing The Duke have a similar exchange with an attractive woman (Ellington's exact reply was "And what would one have to do to be so fortunate?"). No word on whether or not the attempt was successful…

As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.


	2. Intoxicated

Characters: Hikaru Sulu, unnamed OC. 

Warnings: Mild sexual references. 

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu; all other content is mine.

…

Cries of excitement rise from the crowd as the opening notes of a currently popular dance song sound in the club.  People rush onto the floor, arms raised, feet stomping, hips shaking.  Hikaru exchanges a look with you, grabs your arm, and pulls you onto the floor.  You’ve seen him dance at parties before and you smile back at him, knowing you’re in for a treat.  Despite your shyness you love music and dancing too; dancing helped you to feel alive during some of your sad times.  No sadness here, not now.  Everything is thumping sound, singing voices, color, heat, adrenalin, movement.

Hikaru’s with you in the crowd, moving behind you so that his hips frame yours, swaying to the beat.  Your body follows Hikaru’s lead right in time with the music.  Hidden by darkness and dappled shadow and light and dozens of dancing bodies, his hands touch your ass, pat, squeeze, hold.  Suddenly you realize that this might be the way he takes you later: controlling your hips with his strong hands, pausing to pay homage to the soft and hard places of your body as he strokes into you. 

Just thinking about it makes your knees tremble, and you lean back against him for a few seconds.  Hikaru presses one hand against your belly to bring you closer, leans forward and licks your ear as the song ends and the lights go dark.  Dancers shriek in delight.  When the lights go on again Hikaru is several feet away and your nerves feel like they’re buzzing.  

One of your colleagues from the ship says something to you about how fun this nightclub is.  You answer, but is your reply even coherent? People probably assume that you’re as tipsy as nearly everyone else there.

 

You are stone cold sober now and drunk on Sulu.

 

Along with your Starfleet friends, both of you dance two more songs: not enough to get sweaty, but enough to get warm.  Every song makes you more aware of him or seems to be about him.  Hikaru makes it look as though he isn’t dancing with you while he teases you.  Sometimes his hand touches your lower back, quickly moving away when your colleagues approach.  It’s only the first night – perhaps your only night together – and he’s being discreet about this.  He knows that you have to face these people at work later.  Back to being Lieutenant Sulu again, concerned for a crewmate’s well-being.  Such thoughtfulness makes you like him even more, while simultaneously frustrating you.  All you want is his hands on you, his mouth, anything.

Order is restored by friendly, light conversation with other Starfleet personnel and a fresh drink – virgin, alcohol free this time.  Sulu disappears for a while, and then sits near the edge of the group, too far away to touch.  Somehow you behave normally.  For ten minutes, you are a mature adult out on the town for a bit of entertainment in a reputable establishment with other professional people.

Then you glance towards the edge of the circle to see Hikaru Sulu eating a halved piece of fruit, running his tongue along the creamy cluster of seeds down its center.  Your eyes meet.

You are in _so_ much trouble.

…

Thanks for reading! Please take a moment to post a review. It helps me to know what works well with a story like this one.  As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.


	3. Ignite

**It’s Not the Liquor Talking – Ch. 3: Ignite**

Characters: Hikaru Sulu, OC

Warnings: References to sexual activity, PWP. 

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet.  All other content is mine.

 

 

**... _an insatiate thirst of enjoying a greedily desired object..._**

 

 _Source_ : Michel de Montaigne, French philosopher, essayist, and statesman (1533-1592)

 

…

 

Somehow you both leave the club without raising suspicion among your friends and colleagues. Sulu hints at vague plans for an early-morning run, and you stammer something about an exercise routine.  This is almost true.  Exercise is what you’ll soon get, though it’s certainly not routine.

 

Moving with the practiced ease of a highly skilled helmsman, Hikaru sets the rented vehicle into autopilot and it glides along a broad motorway at the legal speed, its sensors chirping softly beneath soft music. 

 

“Hikaru, you can fly or drive anything, even if it's only partly operational.  Why the autopilot?”

 

“I want my hands free.”  He looks stern, but when he reaches out to trace the outline of your mouth with his thumb, he does it gently. Even that light touch gives you a little thrill; you close your eyes to feel it more intensely.   “Fifteen minutes to the hotel by this motorway at the locked-in speed.  Fifteen minutes I want to put to good use.  Understand?”

 

“Mmm, yes.”  Something worries you then, and your eyes open.  “We're not going to...uh, here in the vehicle?”

 

“The techglass is tinted; nobody can see in even if I press you up against it.”  Gripping your shoulders, he angles your body to face his.  “If I told you I wanted to have you here and now you'd let me, wouldn't you?”

 

Hesitantly, you nod.   Hikaru's expression changes and he releases your shoulders, lightly holds your hand instead.  “Forget it.  You don't want that, and both of us deserve better.  Let's set a few rules.  Safe word and a touch, your choice.”

 

His dark eyes shine in the soft light of the dashboard controls as he patiently waits for your answer. If you have to trust anyone in a situation like this, Sulu is a good choice.

 

“Here's the touch.” You use your free hand to tap the back of his three times; if you can't reach his hand or if he binds you, three taps with your foot, or knee, or whatever you can move will convey your need for Sulu to stop.  “The word is...” Unfortunately your mind goes blank. Needing something you won't normally cry out in a moment of passion, something multisyllabic, you blurt, “Osculate.”

 

Smiling, he nods.  “Excellent choice.  Lemme test it.”  Hikaru claims your mouth in a kiss more forceful and even more persuasive than the ones you shared in the club.  Now it's warmer inside the vehicle, even though you can hear the climate control system's soft whoosh.  Sulu reaches around your side, pushes a lever, and your seat reclines to a nearly flat position, your body spread out for him.  He surges over you, straddles you, takes control with his hands, exploring, teasing you through your clothes.  

 

Earlier you admired his body in the well-cut suit, an almost old-fashioned style popular on Earth.  Now you know that Hikaru Sulu feels as good as he looks.  He clasps your hands in his and stretches them over your head; even though you can’t grab his thighs, you can feel their hardness press against yours.  The strength of his arms makes it clear that there are firm muscles beneath that expensive fabric.  Hikaru's body heat is as warm as your desire for him, and he smells good: cologne or something else, you can't tell.  Delirium may set in when his bare skin eventually touches your own.

 

Leaving the transporter pad upon arrival on planet, you’d considered this city too rigidly designed: automated transit, lights on timers, everything carefully managed.  Its inhabitants you dismissed as lazy.  Now, with Hikaru’s hands free to roam your body under the vehicle’s tinted techglass roof and windows, you’re grateful for those thoughtful urban planners.  Kissing you and playing with your tongue wouldn’t be so easy for Hikaru if he had to watch the road.  How could he first squeeze, then push your thighs apart if he had to drive? As for laziness – sorry about that; time-saving automated devices are the smartest thing going.  You understand the advantage of having more time to lay back and groan while a handsome man presses kisses along your neck.  Geniuses, these city dwellers.

 

Reaching up, you pull at his shirt and the opening of his trousers, but his strong hands push yours aside. “Easy, fine one.”

 

“Let me touch you. Please.”

 

“Wait.  Once I give you permission, you’re going to be touching some part of me all night long.”

Moaning, you try to get Hikaru’s hips between your legs so that you can grind against him to relieve the ache, but he pulls away. 

 

“Stop,” he commands, and you do.

 

“Wh-what have I done?”  Did you seem too desperate?

 

No smile, but his expression is kind.  “Slow down. You’re working yourself into a frenzy, and I don’t want you to come yet.”  He tilts his head, the crest of his dark hair outlined against the light filtering through the roof, and regards you curiously.  “If I'd kept going you would have, wouldn't you?”

 

Sighing, you flop back against the plush cushions of the passenger seat.  “Probably.”

 

“Hmm.” Hikaru moves back into the driver's seat; his voice is low, soothing. “Is it _that_ easy for you, fine thing? Has it ever happened just from making out like this?”

 

“A few times I have come that way,” you admit.  Nobody’s asked you what you wanted, what turns you on, how your body responds, for a very long time.  “Only when I’m touched…in certain ways, in certain places.”

 

“Where? Tell me.” His voice is still soft, but with an edge, as though your words arouse him.

 

“Here,” you gesture between your legs, “just from stroking.”

 

“Stroking how?”  He’s leaning back in the driver’s seat now, legs spread, his fingers rubbing a spot high on his thigh near the mound of his testes, gradually straining more and more against the fabric.  It’s not fair.  You want his hands on your thighs instead.  Or _your_ hands on _his_ thighs, knowing you won’t stop there.

 

“ _How_? Tell me,” Hikaru insists. “In less than five minutes I’m taking you into a hotel suite, and we aren't going to be playing cards in there.  Don’t be ashamed.”

 

“I like it…without clothing between their fingers and me.  Skin on skin, just slippery enough so that it isn't easy.  Repeated motions, like…like that, like the way you’re rubbing your leg.  Close, but not right on top.   Up, down a little, never full on.  Building up to it.  Slow, soft, hot, and then fast.  So fast that I can't stop.”

 

Streetlights flash through the tinted roof of the vehicle as it nears the hotel.  Hikaru’s eyes are half-closed.  Is he tired, or just conserving his energy?

 

“Slow, soft, hot. _Fast_. ” Hikaru repeats, his chest falling and rising rapidly in tune with his accelerated breathing.  “Got it.”  He clenches his jaw as though regaining control. “What else excites you?”

 

“My nipples. No pinching, no pain, no biting, just…kissing, touching. Anything soft someone can do with their mouth or hands.”

 

Now he’s turned to look at you again while the vehicle slows down.  “You come just from having your nipples kissed and touched?”

 

“Touched the right way, in combination with other touching, yeah.”

 

A sly grin spreads across Hikaru's face.  “Good to know. I like a challenge.” 

 

Shifting into its lowest speed, the vehicle comes to a stop on the motorway track at the hotel as you tidy your clothing, making yourself unremarkable, presentable.  Hikaru looks as good as he did back at the club since he quite wisely prevented you from undressing him, but he doesn’t get out of the vehicle right away. 

 

When you give him a questioning look, Hikaru glances meaningfully down at the front of his trousers, and you realize he’s waiting for his erection to subside. Maybe it’s only a trick of the darkness or your fevered imagination, but it seems so big and thick that the bottom edge of his suit jacket probably won’t hide it. 

 

Flattered, you pretend to busy yourself with your communication device for several minutes until Hikaru sighs and opens the hatch.

  
…

 

Thanks for reading! Please take a moment to post a review. It helps me to know what works well with a story like this one.  As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.

 


	4. Elevate

**It Isn’t the Liquor Talking**

**Chapter 4:  Elevate**

Characters:  Hikaru Sulu, unnamed OC.  Rating: M. Warnings this chapter: sexually oriented conversation.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other content is mine.

* * *

 

Off duty, Hikaru Sulu walks beside you through the quiet hotel lobby without the usual staccato quickness that sometimes marks his movements on the bridge.  Perhaps his muscles feel the same way yours do after that stimulating vehicle ride: warm and loose, but ready for action.  A drunken hotel guest weaves across your path and stumbles ahead of you into the first available lift.  Frowning, you hesitate to step in, your plans to kiss Hikaru as you rise dashed by the unwelcome observer. 

Sulu’s hand clamps firmly around your forearm.  “Next one.  I want to take you up alone.”

“Aren’t there cameras in the lifts, Hikaru?” you ask, standing millimeters away from his shoulder, taking in his elegant profile, the subtle scent of his skin. Maybe you smell a little bit like each other now, after all of the kisses and touches.

“Yes.  Probably no audio surveillance, though.  ‘Public’ space here ends at the lobby, and hotels don’t like to disturb guests’ privacy by recording conversations.”

 

The next lift arrives and you both step in, Hikaru’s hand at the small of your back where anyone could see.  A glance back over your shoulder reveals a nearly empty lobby populated by service robots and a few discreet humanoid staff, paid not to notice certain behaviors of off-duty Starfleet officers. 

Why can’t you stop fretting?  The nearer you get to Hikaru’s suite, where he can close the door and shut you away from this world, the more nervous you feel.  You glance around at the lift’s polished wood paneling, inset with long panels of engraved metal: expensive décor crafted from natural materials sure to cost dearly on other planets.  “A hotel like this one _must_ have lip-reading software.”

“Don’t worry. “ Hikaru leans back against the wall so that he stands slightly behind you and leans forward to murmur into your ear.  “Now they can’t see me tell you this: when we go to my room, I want you to take a couple of minutes to relax -- and you _need_ to, because I can tell how tense you are -- and then undress while I watch.  Don’t be too shy about it, and don’t make me wait too long.”

“What about you?” you ask without turning around. “Keeping that suit on?”

“Behave. Then I’ll let you undress _me_.”

“And if I don’t behave?”

“Then I take you while I’m still dressed,” Hikaru says firmly.

You gasp and turn to face him.  For all your shyness, you aren’t a complete stranger to intimate adventure.  However, you’ve never stripped naked, then gotten busy with a well-dressed, gorgeous man.  It sounds tremendously appealing.  “May I have both the punishment and the reward…please?”

Hikaru’s visibly surprised by your answer, but he smiles.  “Fine thing, you’re so _greedy_.”

“For you? Better believe it.”

“ _Akkan,_ ” he says, stroking your face.

“ _Akkan…_?”you repeat. _“_ What’s the translation from Japanese?”

“One meaning is a person who does bad things, a villain.  But it also means a highlight, or the best part of something.”

 

Suddenly the lift stops at a floor, and a cluster of people in party clothes crowd on, chattering and shrieking with laughter.  You freeze in place, hoping that a mask of politeness erases your dreamily lustful expression.  Both you and Sulu move back into a corner to give them enough space.  One of them stops talking long enough to hit the elevator panel, selecting the floor with the hotel’s banquet rooms. 

Perhaps you needn’t worry because you’re a bit older than they are. Unfamiliar alien humanoids all, you cannot guess their precise ages. However, their behavior hints that they’re legal adults in this society who are socially and developmentally a few years away from you.  This age gap renders you and Sulu nearly invisible. 

So when Sulu’s fingers slide slowly up, then down your spine, instead of protesting you take deep breaths and let him do it.  The lift climbs up several floors, the giggling talk continues, and Sulu’s fingers move down along your tailbone before resting along the top curve of one buttock.  He could squeeze you without anyone seeing, but instead he waits. Thoughtlessly, you press back against Sulu’s hand as though demanding touch, and from the corner of your eye you catch sight of his smirk.  It’s a relief when a chime sounds and the lift stops.  Five seconds of music, colorful party clothes, and raised voices as the young partiers leave, then the door slides shut. 

The polished metal panels reflect Sulu’s arms embracing you from behind, and his hand touching you somewhere it probably shouldn’t.  “The cameras!”

“Fuck the cameras.  I am _so_ close to not caring,” Sulu groans against your neck.  Thankfully, he only has time to exhale one damp breath against your neck – enough to weaken you, not enough to make you wild – before the chime sounds again and the lift stops.

“Here we are.”

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please take a moment to post a review, in the community spirit of fanfiction readers and writers.  As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous. 


	5. Hidden and Revealed

**It’s Not the Liquor Talking**

**Chapter 5:  Hidden and Revealed**

Characters:  Hikaru Sulu, unnamed OC.  Rating: M for Mature.  Warning for this chapter: Sexual conversation and activity.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

* * *

 

Has anyone ever made you feel wanted the way Sulu does?

He propels you down the hallway towards his room, your footsteps muffled by a carpet thick enough to sleep on. The hallway lighting's dim up here on this floor, where the suites cost more than your own comfortable but less lavish room several floors below. Again, Sulu's hand presses on the small of your back, as though he's declared it one of his favorite parts of your body.

You remember fragments of other times, with other lovers, and decide the answer to your question is  _no_. Something's different about being wanted like this: it's kind of friendly, trust mixed in with desire. It's better to anticipate falling into bed with someone who smiles at you instead of holding you at a distance with an intense, hard-eyed stare that makes you wonder why they chose you.

Sulu seems happy with his choice tonight, kissing your cheek before he fumbles with the palm scanner beside his door; he's looking at you and puts his hand against the wall instead of the tempered glass. He is eager, too.

The heavy door shuts quietly behind you, sealing both of you into hiding for the night. Sulu removes his shoes and places them on a small rack by the door; you do the same, just as you would at home after coming indoors. The opulent room reminds you of the vast gap between your old life and where you are now; then you feel him move closer to you and your mind returns to the present.

Sulu shrugs. "Yeah, it's a bit much for one person. Starship life gets a bit claustrophobic." Both of you walk the perimeter of the central room, which is furnished with a few chairs and tables. Open doors lead off into three bathrooms, a combined kitchen, dining, and entertainment room with a massive view screen; a small bedroom; and a master bedroom, lit by a single lamp illuminating a huge bed. A broad window in one wall provides a view of the glittering night skyline.

The entire place is bigger than some of the prefab company houses in your hometown, and more impersonal. Lieutenant Sulu, accustomed to regimented Starfleet life, hasn't left clothing or personal items strewn about the rooms. A couple of neatly stacked padds sit on the desk, but otherwise you wouldn't know that he's even checked in yet.

Both of you pause by the window. Sulu looks out at the night, then at you, and moves in for a kiss. Finally you can stroke the smooth planes of his face, spear your fingers through his thick black hair with both hands. Every part of him you touch feels wonderful. For a moment he responds to your touch. You see his eyes close, feel his heart pound, and sense his muscles relaxing beneath the confines of his suit as you lean into each other. Casual affairs aren't usually good experiences for you, but with him it seems almost certain that tonight's pleasures are mutual.

Abruptly, Sulu pulls away. "Take three minutes to relax. I know that you're shy, you get a bit tense. You can use any one of the bathrooms if you want to."

_Tense?_  You're feeling something, all right, but tense ain't it. Biting back the words, you simply nod to keep the peace. Could Sulu be apprehensive, trying to slow things down? Isn't he enjoying this? Some of your earlier nervousness returns.

"I'll be back soon."

The bathroom's almost big enough to have an echo. Showerheads on opposing walls in the giant walk-in shower indicate that it's meant for more than one user. Next to the sink there stands a little shelf of fancy cleansing liquids in black glass bottles; none of them appear opened, so Sulu must use one of the other bathrooms in this palace. Dancing didn't leave you very sweaty, but you quickly soap up a washcloth with the expensive stuff, loosen your clothing, and freshen the most crucial areas. The warm water calms you before you tidy up and leave. Sulu will feel warmer still.

He's waiting for you. Seated in a large armchair several feet away from the bed, Sulu might as well be a king waiting to command you from a throne. He's almost cocky, and not even sitting up straight. Instead Sulu leans to the side with his legs apart, a leg casually draped over one arm of the chair. Relieved to see him so approachable, you take a step toward him.

"Stop."

Immediately, you do.

"I didn't say you could come near yet. Two more steps closer."

With two more steps you're onstage, in a manner of speaking: standing in a pool of warm light cast from two artistically curved lamps on side tables. How do you look to him?

"Undress for me."

One piece of clothing goes, draped over one of the side tables – your practical nature won't allow you to drop good clothing onto the floor. Now another piece of clothing. Shaky hands make it difficult to look sexy, but then you pause in your fumbling and see his face. You've only bared some of the front of your body, but Sulu's mouth opens slightly. He grips an arm of the chair as though to stop himself from reaching for you.

Encouraged, you slow your movements, watching him as he watches you. More clothing comes off; you hear your ragged breathing in the softly circulating air. Your own excitement grows under Sulu's scrutiny. When his eyes move down between your legs, you feel a rush of blood to the area, imagining that you feel your pulse throbbing there. No longer casual, Sulu sits up straight in the chair, both hands planted on the armrests. His gaze burns into you. Who is in control now?

 

Finally your body is almost completely bare except for one tiny compression bandage around your ankle, a small thing recommended by Dr. McCoy to treat a strained ligament. It's almost healed, but you wore it tonight just in case.

Sulu's eyes move downward. "Do you need to leave that on? Should I avoid touching your ankle?"

"It's all right, it doesn't really hurt anymore. I usually remove it at night anyway." Balancing on one leg, you show off a little, making a small display of strength as you remove the bandage and put it aside. "How considerate of you to ask me; thank you. Yes, you can touch my ankle, and all the rest."

 

Nothing stands between you now. Sulu bites his lower lip, his chest rising and falling.

"Closer," he says, his voice thick. "Come closer now."

Bare footsteps make little sound on the plush carpeting. You stop when he holds up his hand and your toes are nearly parallel with his own bare ones. Even Sulu's bare feet seem pleasing to the eye.

The cloth of his suit rustles faintly as he stands. Sulu watches your face while he slowly removes his suit jacket. He's close enough for you to feel his body heat, but your skin prickles with goose bumps and awareness of him. Shrugging his shoulders backward, Sulu lets the jacket fall onto the armchair and stands before you in shirt, necktie, and trousers.

Half a step more and you're touching. Sulu places one hand decisively on the small of your back and presses you against him, slowly rubbing his clothed body against your naked one. In a few seconds you're groaning with pleasure at what you feel: the smooth cloth of his shirt and the slick smoothness of the tie against the front of your body and your nipples. His metal belt buckle: first cool against your belly, then warmed by you. Sulu's tongue and teeth tease your neck where it joins your shoulder, and you actually whimper shamelessly. Giddily you reach for him, and then stop. Few rules were set, but some kind of game is being played here.

"Wanna touch me?" he asks.

"Mm, yes…sir."

"Hikaru, for this." He rubs his cheek against your neck.

"But…"

"I need it. That okay? I like knowing you want  _me_ , instead of just a body. Use my name." Grasping your hips, he presses you harder against him, nearly pulls you off balance.

"Yes, Hikaru." Now you do embrace him, caress his back, move your hands down to his ass in a way similar to how he played with you in the elevator. Without witnesses there's nothing to stop you from squeezing his ass, and what a fine ass it is. Hikaru growls in approval as you get one good squeeze in, then steps away, moves behind you, and propels you toward the chair. He holds you in place, letting you feel him all along your back, and releases you. You grab the chair's high back to support yourself. You hear a soft clink of metal; his belt buckle.

Not yet! You're not ready…but he knows that. A flush of heat moves across your back as he leans over you. Liquid heat, then, all along your spine: Hikaru licks down from the back of your neck, leaving a thrilling trail of sensation, and you are moaning loudly. Stopping at the base of your spine, he plants a kiss at that well-favored small of your back.

Hikaru wraps one strong forearm around your waist; you feel the disarray at the front of his trousers. On your bared skin you feel the slightly thicker, rougher fabric of his suit, and between that the thin, soft underwear covering a firm ridge.

"Hikaru?" Your knees shake hard enough to make your voice tremble.

Damp air whispers across your bare skin. "Not like this. I can't see you." Strong hands turn you around. "And I can't see these." Hikaru bends his head to lick and suck each nipple: left, then right. When his mouth touches you, you draw in loud, panting breaths and your hips buck forward involuntarily.

"Huh. You weren't exaggerating; they really are sensitive."

"Mmm," is all you can say, smiling as you stroke his hair.

He grins. "Do you like my hair? Really,  _really_  like it?"

"Yes indeed." You touch it again, enjoying the feeling of it on the back of your hand, your fingertips. "It's as beautiful as the rest of you."

"Hmm. Thank you, but that's not something I get called often. Hardass, maybe." But he looks pleased as he removes his necktie.

"No, let me look my fill," you protest, pushing at his hands as he begins to blindfold you. One warm, powerful hand slides along your throat; the other clasps your wrist.

"Seeing isn't everything. Cross your wrists in front. Trust me on this," he whispers, and you comply, allowing him to finish tying the blindfold on. It's a loose fit, perhaps intentionally so. Glimpses of the floor prevent you from falling as Hikaru securely guides you – his hand in that place, again – into the bedroom, where he pauses to pull the bed cover halfway back. The light-colored fabric of the bed sheets reflects some light but you're disoriented, even more so when Hikaru does something with a gentle thrust to your shoulder and one of your legs – part lift, part push – that causes you to fall on the bed.

"That's  _not_  a regulation application of Starfleet combat methods," you mutter.

"I don't always fight fair. Lay flat."

 

As you obey, the mattress dips. Hikaru's kneeling somewhere near your feet, atop the half-folded comforter. The bed shifts again, and you feel the first tiny, gratifying touch of his hair.

His hair is soft. Whatever preparation he combed into it before going out for the night has either melted away or (like you) found his hair to be as irresistible as the rest of him. Despite his body heat you shiver a little as Hikaru brushes his hair over your bare skin. Up, down, teasing. Lingering over your inner thighs, he moves his head and makes you beg before moving up to your belly, your sternum, along the wings of your clavicle. All the overworked nerves of your body spring to life again. Sometimes you can feel Hikaru's exhalations, damp and hot, moments ahead of his hair; the warning doesn't lessen the impact. Such a simple thing, and it feels so good.

"What are you trying to say?" he murmurs, interrupting your incoherent whimpering. "You wanted something?"

" _You_. Let me undress you, please, Hikaru?"

Warm fabric slides away, and your gaze meets his. Hikaru Sulu balances on his knees above you, his shirt rumpled and open at the collar.

"Permission granted."

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please take a moment to post a review, in the community spirit of fanfiction readers and writers. As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

 


	6. Bare

**It’s Not the Liquor Talking – Chapter 6:  Bare**

Characters:  Hikaru Sulu, unnamed OC.  Rating: M for Mature.  Warning for this chapter: Sexual conversation and activity. As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.

_Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

* * *

When Hikaru Sulu grants you permission to undress him it's like receiving a gift to unwrap slowly and savor.  You like men's bodies enough that naming your favorite parts is difficult.  Depending on whose body it is your answer changes: chest, neck, eyes, shoulders, mouth, jaw line, legs, butt, treasure trail, forearms, long fingers... 

Hikaru's arms and hands have made you feel very good tonight, so you start there.  When you unbutton the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and trail your fingers along his forearms, soft, straight hairs bend under your fingers.  The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, leaving you only three more to play with – garments with buttons are like novelties compared to the pullover Starfleet uniforms. 

A sophisticated man like Hikaru dresses as thoroughly as he controls a spacecraft.  Of course he wears an undershirt, a fitted, sleeveless one displaying firm biceps.  The white undershirt contrasts with the fine honey-gold tones in his skin.  Body heat and a hint of cologne cling to the knit fabric as you grasp the undershirt's hem and pull it over his head.  Taking advantage of the moment when Hikaru's vision is blocked by the shirt, you kiss his neck, feel his pulse throbbing under your lips, suck a little skin between your teeth.  He reacts with a deep, sensuous moan that fills your ears before you hear the undershirt falling onto the carpet. 

Hikaru's chest is beautifully smooth.  His nipples remind you of the flat mocha chocolate drops you used to buy from a small shop near Starfleet Academy.  The small indulgences melted on your tongue and eased the stress of a hard day.  Hikaru will have a different sort of sweetness, but he's an indulgence all the same. 

“May I please...?” you ask, hands lifted.  

“Yes.”  He watches your face as you explore his bared body: first with palms flat, then with fingertips stroking.  Of the two of you, you may be the one with more sensitive nipples but Hikaru's stiffen when you circle them first with your fingers, then your tongue.  A crisp line of hair leads from just below his navel down to –

The waistband of his black knit boxer briefs stops you.  His open trousers have slipped a couple of centimeters south. 

“Take 'em off me,” Hikaru whispers.  How easy it would be to just grab his boxers and trousers and pull them all down at once – but you won't do that, not while you can play with him the way he played with you.  Pushing his trousers down, you keep slightly too much space between you as you squat down to pull them free of his legs.  Hikaru doesn't like the distance; he growls something and kicks off the trousers, and grabs you by your elbows to pull you back up to a standing position.  The expression in his eyes is intense and unreadable; then you look down again.

“Oooh.”   His erection's grown so big that the head of his penis pokes through the boxers' opening.  Above the waistband of his boxers you can trace the nicely defined grooves at the front of each hip: the Polykleitos girdle, to use the archaic, proper name of a Greek sculptor.  Apollo's Belt and Adonis' Belt are other terms.  Each suits Hikaru.  

“Mmm.  You may be too much for me to handle.”

A strong hand lightly holds your throat again, smoothly rubs down to your hip, moves around to  squeeze your ass, then lets go and strokes the small of your back.  “Be brave, fine thing.  You _know_ that you can handle me.”

And so you do.  First through the cloth, both trembling hands outlining the heat and weight of him.  Encouraged by Hikaru's sharp intake of breath, you slide both hands inside. 

“You feel so hot.  I can't decide how I want you first.”  Kneeling down, you try a gentle bite through the cloth.  Hikaru groans and his legs tremble; you try more bites,  a lick, other ways of teasing him.  Has he grown bigger? How does it all fit – it's hard to break the habit of over thinking.  Taking a deep breath, you pull the boxers down, force them away from his legs.

Those luscious divots at his hips frame an impressive erection, pointed right at you.  Impressive not simply because of size but for how it makes you feel.  Someone you want, who you chose, wants you too.  It's quite a way to end a long dry spell:  a handsome man asks for your consent, makes you feel good, instigates foreplay leading to near delirium, and lets you see how much you turn him on.

Things could end quickly if you stayed down there, at least for him.  Hikaru's having none of that.  “Stop.” 

Strong hands hook beneath your arms and pull you back to your feet.

“But don't you want --”

“More later.  Not like that.”

The words _But guys like –_ form in your mind.   Is he like the lover you've heard a friend complaining about – touching, giving, but uncomfortable with being touched, afraid to let go?  Just thinking of it makes you feel a rush of affection for this man you don't know well enough.  Without asking permission you tenderly caress the side of his face.  Hikaru tenses, relaxes, touches you the same way, and then kisses you. 

Earlier, his kisses seduced you with calculated skill and persistence.  This kiss is all free,  undisciplined passion, with nothing left to prove.  When he pulls away he's struggling for control.  “Get on the bed.”

Rebelliously, you tweak his nipple before you comply, and he playfully gives you a spank.   “If you weren’t so cute I’d punish you, but do not test me.”  The edge in his stern bridge officer's voice is softened by his wry facial expression. 

Grabbing an ankle in each hand, Hikaru spreads your legs apart so that he can kneel between them at the foot of the bed.  “Touch yourself.  You told me earlier what you like.  Now show me so that I know how to take over.”

 

Clothed, Hikaru Sulu is a threat to your self-control.  Naked, he's the equivalent of a nerve-scrambling setting on a specialized phaser.   His gaze follows your shaky hands.  Already aroused, you skip the small touches you'd normally begin with.  Instead you slide your hands down over your sweat-dampened stomach and show him. 

Hikaru watches, breathing so deeply that you see his broad shoulders rise and fall.  “Oh, yes. You look even more amazing when you do that.  Who else gets to see you do this?”

“Nobody recently.”

“So I’m lucky.”

After a moment he pushes your hands away, replacing your movements with his own.  It's not exactly the same pattern you set, but you like his touch:  steady but not harsh.  “Like this?” Hikaru asks.  Dazed, you don’t answer immediately, and he stops to insist: “Tell me, treasure.”

The surprising endearment pleases you but you don't comment.   “Up a little…press more...”

“Riiight.”  Hikaru's touch changes and your back arches against the mattress.

“Ahhh, like that, _just_ like that!”  Your hips seem to reach for him. 

 

“Easy, treasure.  Don’t get too wild yet.”

 

“But ah, oh, mmm.”  Your attempt to form a sentence in reply collapses.  Hikaru grins.

 

 “Speechless, eh?  You're so responsive.  It's gonna give me a big head.”

 

 “You've _already_ got a big head, Sulu,” you manage to reply with a big smile of your own.

 

“Ooh, smart mouth!  Tell me what you think of _this_ –“

 

His head dips between your legs.  First you moan.  Then Hikaru adds something with his fingers that makes you twist your hips and nearly shout.

 

“More?” Hikaru murmurs, his breath hot against your inner thighs.  Taking your sounds for an answer, his mouth descends again.  Did you ever really know, or had you forgotten, that it was possible to be driven to a state of intoxication by foreplay?  You know this luxurious place is soundproofed; his tongue is making you test that.

 

He raises his head again and moves out of contact with you, wearing that now familiar look of mischief.  “If you’re gonna moan that loud, say my name.  Are you always like this? I can’t wait to hear you come.”

“Dammit, Sulu. You _tease_.” 

“So I’m a ‘tease’ now?  You sure didn’t complain earlier when I played with you.” He gives your thigh a hard squeeze.  “What should I do with you?”

“Don’t make me beg.”  There was a time when you begged for it from someone who no longer wanted you. That rejection shamed you, leaving a sting slow to fade.

Hikaru moves forward.  “There’s nothing wrong with asking for what you want.  Anyway, I’d like to hear you say it, 'cause you just look and feel _so_ good, and I _like_ being wanted.”  He lightly nuzzles his nose against yours.  “Especially by you, fine thing.”

Deliberately, he moves his hips so that his hard length rubs against your stomach.  You reach down to caress him: heat and power beneath his skin's velvety softness.  Hikaru’s eyes look  unfocused and he takes a breath.

With him this close, it feels natural to whisper.  “I want you –“ another caress – “in me.”

“Good. “  Hikaru kisses the tip of your nose.  Not for the first time tonight, you wonder how he can read you so easily.  Looking vulnerable is a disadvantage in Starfleet life.  When did your façade vanish?

 

Hikaru pulls out a jar from a small cabinet next to the bed and opens it.  The scent and appearance of the contents seem familiar.

“Where’d you find that?”

Not quite contraband, medically approved, but not uniformly regulated within the Federation, the creamy substance inside the jar serves multiple purposes:  lube, birth control, massage oil, general sexual health resource.  

Some versions include a mild stimulant.  Hopefully this version does not.  Perhaps you’re vain, but you prefer Hikaru Sulu to be driven to passionate distraction by your own personal allure.

 

Again, that mischievous grin.  “It’s legal here.  Want to put it on me, or would you rather watch – ”

You whisk the jar from Hikaru's fingers so quickly that he laughs.  “Oh, _akkan_.”  He stretches out on his back, one arm bent behind his head, the other extended to pull you closer.

Eagerly, you scoop up a buttery fingerful and rub it along the smooth column of his penis, producing a low groan from deep in his throat.  Your fingers don't tingle from the cream, which contains no added stimulant.  He's actually responding to _you_.    

From what you recall total coverage is advisable; body heat makes the cream soften and form a harmless, flexible barrier, so you curve your fingers around him to cover everything.  Almost impossibly, Hikaru seems to grow firmer and thicker beneath the movement of your fingers.  You detour to his balls, careful to use less pressure there; his thigh muscles feel taut against the backs of your hands.   Hikaru watches you through half-closed eyes during the few seconds it takes.  His free hand trails over your body, never losing contact.  Then his eyes widen as he watches you reach down between your own legs to wipe off the excess cream. 

“Save that for me.”  One hand flies out and seizes your wrist.  “You’re in my hands tonight; _I'll_ make you come.”  Hikaru sits up and turns you onto your back.  

Strong, lean muscles flex along his body as he kneels and positions you.  Feeling hyper-aware of your own body, you pull your thighs up and back, opening yourself to him.  He exchanges a look of silent understanding with you as his hands clasp your thighs.  Firm enough to hold you in place, but not tightly enough to cause pain. 

A vestige of tension meets his entry, and you suck in a breath and tilt your head back.  Then you look at him instead of the ceiling, and he is a glorious sight.   Hikaru’s lips are parted, his hair standing up in spiky tufts in the places where you grabbed it.   Sweat gleams on his chest and biceps and the  column of his throat.  Muscles on his stomach flex as he strokes into you.  The steady pressure and fullness feel…oh, _good_ feels like a word that's both big enough and too small.  You've wondered what it might be like to be the focus of Hikaru's sexual attention.  Now you know, held in place by his dark gaze and strong hands.

His voice sounds slightly rough.  “I remember what you said earlier, how you like being touched.  Slow. Soft. Then fast.” 

You were discussing hands on genitals at the time, but you have no complaints about Hikaru’s broader interpretation.  “I liked your slow and soft.  Are we gonna do fast?”  You’re probably slurring your words, drunk on lust.  Digging your fingers into the mattress, you try to move your hips to meet him, let him slide in deeper. 

“Ah!”  Cramps interrupt the rising pleasure, but Hikaru apparently mistakes your whimper for  a positive response.  Muscles in your hip, then your ankle stiffen and you can’t immediately move to a less painful position.  Remembering your agreement, you reach for Hikaru’s forearm and tap three times.   Panting, his hips flexing, he doesn’t stop instantly.  So you hiss the safe word between gritted teeth.  “Osculate!”

 

He goes still.  “Did I hurt you?”

 

“Muscle cramp. _Please_ don’t stop.  Can I just …” you move your leg.

 

“Hold on.”  It’s frustrating when Hikaru cautiously pulls out of you, even though you know he’s being thoughtful.  However, the close-up view of his chest as he leans over you compensates for it.  One muscled arm reaches above your head, grabs one of the pillows at the head of the bed. 

 

“Lift.” 

 

Addition of the pillow raises your pelvis to a satisfactory angle.  Hikaru steadies himself on his knees and grabs your thighs again. 

 

“Mmmm.” His white teeth bite the curve of his bottom lip as he slowly slides in, out a little, back in. “Oh.  Yes. That’s better for me. How about you?”

 

“Ohhh…”  Your body’s more relaxed now, accepting him easily.  The new angle brings him into contact with certain sensitive areas.  Pleasurable, and a bit different from what you felt only a few minutes ago.

 

“Got it.”  Hikaru grins.  “Brace yourself.”

 

_Slow, soft, then fast_.  Waves of irresistible friction, and his strong hands moving:  holding, lifting, guiding, stimulating.  The heavy bed creaks a little beneath your combined forces:  Hikaru thrusting, you pushing up to meet him.  Soon you can't keep your vocal responses to him under control. Hikaru doesn't want you to.  “Scream, treasure,” he commands.  “Do it.  Scream so I know you like m... you like this.”

 

There's no time to analyze what Hikaru almost said.  One of his hands moves nimbly between your legs, strokes, enflames you further. 

 

“ _Hikaru!_ ”  A muscle low on your belly tenses, and you know he's aware of it because his fingers press a little harder.  Hearing you say his name that way visibly affects him; he’s almost glowing with delight.  Sweat slicks your thighs  – is the sweat yours or his? 

 

“Come for me.  Let go.”  Hikaru’s gasping for breath, so that his demands begin to sound almost like a plea.   

 

You clutch handfuls of bedsheet, trying to anchor yourself to – what, exactly? Reality?  Hikaru Sulu’s altered that for you tonight.  You release the sheets and the last shred of reason.  Hearing him gasping, grunting, calling out incoherently sends you higher; you hear yourself make the same sounds and it doesn’t sound ugly to you.  If you weren’t gulping in air, you’d probably drown Hikaru’s voice out with your own cries. 

 

Waves of release roll through your body, leaving you quivering.  Hikaru tenses and surrenders to his own pleasure with a long moan.  Collapsing forward, he catches himself on outspread hands before sinking down onto the bed beside you.   Whatever it was each of you sought tonight  you’ve found it, falling down into flame together. 

 

Maybe it's just the hormones flooding your body and brain, but you've always _liked_ Hikaru Sulu.   Such a considerate man deserves cuddling.  This time when your hands wander over him, Hikaru doesn't stop you.  Closeness, light kisses, hugging: how you've missed the feeling!  You even kiss the disordered part in his hair.

Sleeping immediately after sexual relations is bad manners.  Of course, you don’t mean to be rude, particularly not to Hikaru.  But you’re more comfortable with yourself than you have been in months, and you doze off after a few seconds. 

 

Shifting weight on the mattress makes you open your eyes, just in time to see Hikaru’s naked backside – well toned from fencing practice - as he walks to the bathroom.   There’s the faint sound of running water as he removes the remnants of the cream.  Soon he returns carrying a couple of damp towels, for which you thank him without shyness, then use to clean up a bit.

 

“Refresher open.”  It feels odd to use your voice for normal speech again.  A hatch slides open in the wall; you ball the used towels up and throw them across the room directly into the opening.

 

“Nice arm,” Hikaru says.

 

“Thanks.  I used to play softball.”  When you turn to face him, he looks as though he's admiring you. 

 

Still feeling…happy? satisfied? …you lay down for more cuddling.  A cozy silence stretches between you as you lay facing each other. 

 

“I would never have guessed, Mr. Sulu.”

 

“Guessed what?”

 

“That you have other…interests.  Or that you’d want to share them.”

 

“Uh, ‘interests’?”  Hikaru gives you a look of mock severity.  “I _do_ enjoy life, even though I  constantly risk losing it in Starfleet.” He trails his fingertips over your collarbone and over your hip.  “You’re okay with how it was tonight?”

 

“Try ‘ecstatic’.  You’re pretty amazing, Hikaru.  My mind and my body thank you.”

 

Blushing looks sweet on him. “I liked being with you, too.”

 

“Best one night stand I ever had,” you say, rolling onto your back and stretching.

 

“We’re on planet here for three more nights.”

 

“And?”

 

Hikaru fusses with his pillow, looking away.  “This big suite easily fits more than one person.”

 

You sit up, thinking of your clothes in the other room. “Am I welcome to drop in again?” 

 

One strong arm loops around your waist as he sits up beside you.  “No need to drop in if this is where you stay the whole time we’re here.”

 

“Are you sure that you want me here?” 

 

Perhaps somewhere in your communications inbox,  an official decision regarding the job transfer you applied for awaits.  If you’re chosen, the new job may bring the change you think you need: similar duties on a Starfleet station where Federation ships dock for such needs as maintenance service, battle recovery, and confidential strategy meetings.  More people moving through, but also a large, cohesive core staff: people you will see every day and form friendships with.  You’ll accept each others' weaknesses and mistakes.  You took a risk on something new tonight; you can take other risks.

 

Hikaru leans into you a little.  “Yes, I’m sure; I want you to stay here.  I know you value your privacy, so l won’t tell anyone unless it's necessary.  Not that I care who knows.  Do you want to stay?” 

 

It's a little sad to think of Hikaru alone in this opulent, lonely suite.  You place a light kiss on his mouth.  “Yes.  I'd like to stay with you.  Let’s have a couple of fun days here.  Real beds, real sunlight, real gravity.”

 

“Good.”  Hikaru’s expression relaxes, but you change the subject anyway.

 

“I recall you saying something about some sort of massage tub,” you say in a light, flirty tone.  “This is a water rich planet and I don’t want to miss the opportunity.  How about a quick shower, then tub?”

 

Hikaru stands, stretches out both hands to help you off the bed.  “Massage tub it is – though I know I said we should use it after we’d worn each other out.  Tired?”

 

Looking at Hikaru’s naked body awakens your lustful feelings again.  “Not very.  Can we just try to wear each other out while we’re both _in_ that tub?”

 

After a brief cleansing shower, a little food, and a busy, playful session in the tub, both of you eventually sleep in the same bed.  Hikaru is close to you all night.  Being held and holding someone else while sleeping feels good. This isn't about love; you don't know Hikaru well enough to love him.  But it'll do for now.

 

It's the best night of natural, unmedicated sleep you've had in a very long time. 

* * *

 

_akkan_ = Japanese. One translation is "Villain", while another is "the best part of" something.

 

Next chapter: Epilogue. 

Thanks for reading! Please take a moment to post a review, in the community spirit of fanfiction readers and writers. As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.


	7. Morning with Hikaru

**It's Not the Liquor Talking – Chapter 7: Morning with Hikaru**

Characters: Hikaru Sulu, unspecified OC. As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.

_Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

 

* * *

 

Dawn light leaks around the edges of the hotel's window coverings. Even after years away from your hometown, your body wakes you before sunrise or an alarm. Your legs move toward the edge of the bed, following unspoken commands to leave the shared body heat of your siblings sleeping beside you, splash cold water on your face and hurry to begin chores – or so you would do, if you were still in your old life. 

 

This early waking happens in space too. Occasionally you dream of doing chores, your hands reaching for buckets that aren't there, your fingers closing around an invisible twig broom, your hands opening gates for ghostly animals. Dr. McCoy is one of the few people you've told about this, and he surprised you by nodding in understanding: “I did the same thang when I was a child; we rose with the chickens. That habit of early rising helped me get through Starfleet training. I understand.”

 

No chores await you here. As you blink at the dim shapes of furniture you don't own, you remember where you are. All the delicious warmth along your back comes from Hikaru Sulu. He doesn't poke sharp elbows into your ribs or forehead like a sibling. His arm is draped over your bare waist like a lover. Not that you can claim the term _lover_ after one night. What are you to Sulu? Toy, mistake, or filler in a huge, lonely bed on an impersonal Federation city-state?

 

You were invited – _encouraged_ – to stay here last night, but now you want fresh clothes and the bathroom. There are three bathrooms in this suite. If you wished you could tap an order into the screen set into the bedside table; order personal care items, clothing, and shoes; and have it all delivered to the room in an unmarked box within an hour. Half that time, if you drop Sulu's name and rank. Anything you desire is yours here, as long as you pay the price. But you want your own things, and time to think about what you did last night.

 

Never underestimate a Starfleet officer's reflexes. Hikaru's fingers caress your hip as you try to sneak off the bed. When you look over your shoulder his gaze is trained directly on your face. “Hey. Good morning.”

 

“Hikaru...good morning to you too. I was just going to my room.”

 

Silently, he blinks, then raises both eyebrows.

 

“To get my clothes, take a shower.” You take a deep breath and turn around to face him. “And then come back here. We could...maybe go out...have breakfast together, if you want.”

 

Hikaru's fingers release your hip. “I want, yeah.” He kicks back the sheet, elongates himself in a spectacular nude full-body stretch that makes you stop breathing for a moment. “Sure you want to go out, be seen together?”

 

“Yes, why not? It fits with both of our alibis about working out in the morning. People won't be surprised to see us together. Do you always wake up this early, handsome?”

 

“Mm-hm. Usually I stretch, do weights, spar in the _Enterprise_ gym, then cool down  & shower before I go on bridge duty. Tell me honestly, are you all right after last night?” Hikaru rolls onto his side, watching you carefully.

 

You know that he isn't asking about your physical state so much as psychological but you choose not to answer the whole question. “A little sore in places but otherwise, good.” You stroke his chest, collarbones, shoulders. “No regrets. What about you?”

 

His slow, sensual grin carries away the last trace of drowsiness. “Felt damn good last night. Feel damn good this morning. Planning to make damn sure we both feel good again.” He trails his fingers down your sternum. “If we get room service I can put some sliced fruit and veg on your body, maybe dribble a little bittersweet syrup. Or if we’re talking about a _different_ sort of eating out…” Hikaru winks. “Of course, we can save all of that for later, and just choose a restaurant near the beach instead. Part of the beach is artificial like most stuff in this city but it’s nice enough. I went there yesterday by myself to see what it's like.”

 

Somehow you hadn’t expected the highly regarded Lt. Sulu to go sightseeing alone.

“Hikaru, you don’t mind going to the beach with me? People will see us. Breakfast is one thing...”

 

“Breakfast is more incriminating. What are you afraid of: what others think, or yourself?”

 

“Neither, maybe. You asked my consent, and I wanted this. We didn't break any rules and I'm not directly in your line of command. Any gossip is not my concern, and nobody notices me much anyway.”

 

Hikaru strokes your thigh. “ _I_ noticed you, fine thing.”

 

“Glad that you're so observant, Mr. Sulu. Look where it got us.” You force your hands to stop wandering over him. “Should we meet in two hours? Enough time for a run, gym, shower?”

 

“I don't need two hours. Hour and a half. Maybe we could run together tomorrow morning. Or do something else.”

 

Hikaru's voice has taken on a low, suggestive pitch...but you're already on your feet, making your escape. “Let's decide later.” You kiss him and flee to the other room to grab your clothes.

 

…

 

The communication device you use for travel off the ship holds no messages about your requested job transfer; you set it aside. The questions crowding your mind can't be answered by anything on a screen, so you make yourself presentable and go for a run along the broad public trail in the park land behind the hotel. Clouds hint at morning rain, but the risk of seeing Hikaru on the small track inside the hotel gym sends you outdoors. 

 

Other people jog past you, their attention diverted by sound devices in their ears. Pushing yourself, you try to work through some lingering soreness in your hips. Hikaru was careful with you but you were enthusiastic. As you run you wait for the old feelings of guilt and disappointment to come, but they're absent. Instead you enjoy feeling your muscles grow warmer and admire the unfamiliar plants and trees along the trail. It would be fun to show them to Hikaru and ask what he thinks of them. 

 

Suddenly you stop in your tracks. “What am I doing?” you ask yourself. “I had a really good time last night. I could still be having one.”

 

Turning around, you follow the trail back to the hotel. In far less than the ninety minutes you allotted, you're bathed, dressed, and sending a message to Hikaru's room.

 

_I'm ready._

 

His reply isn't instantaneous but close enough. 

 

_I've been ready for you. Coming down to get you and your stuff._

 

…

 

With your travel bag moved into Hikaru's suite, you walk out into the city morning together. A few locals stare at you – Starfleet folk look like Starfleet folk, even in civilian dress. The slim, tailored cut of Sulu's clothes shows no phaser at his hip but a hint of swagger in his walk hints that he'd be comfortable carrying one. Perhaps he's carrying it out of sight somewhere. 

 

Hikaru held your hand in the elevator on the way down to the lobby. On the street, he walks a little closer to you than a co-worker would. Perfectly gentlemanly, he pays you small, gracious attentions: light touches to your elbow, easygoing conversation. 

 

Inside the restaurant Hikaru sits facing the door as though prepared to observe and confront intruders, and you are reminded again of his power and authority aboard the ship. But he doesn't want to discuss battles and combat. After you order your food he asks you about what you saw during your run and how you like this planet. If you hadn't already fallen upon each other so ravenously last night, this might feel like a first date. The cozy, friendly feelings are reassuring because you want him so much. If the local culture allowed you to stand in the middle of the street and tongue-kiss him you'd do it. If Hikaru wanted to pull you into an alley and take things further, you might do that too...not really, as you prefer privacy, but the idea doesn't completely repel you. 

 

The heat of a cup of tea clears your thoughts. You've got three full days and nights to let this unexpected passion burn itself out. For the sake of your own sanity, you're going to give it everything you've got.

 

Crewmates see you eating and join you; if they're surprised to see you with Sulu they politely hide it. Calm and cool, Hikaru includes you in the conversation, directing questions your way and mentioning your knowledge and experience. It's one of the nicest things that a man you desire has done for you recently. 

 

Softball, a Starfleet crew dinner, and an evening dance party are on the day's schedule. Both you and Hikaru say that you will attend all of the events. Hikaru tells the others you're an experienced softball player, omitting the fact that you were both naked and post-orgasmic when you told him. 

 

When the others respond with interest you almost begin to reply in a way that diminishes your abilities, as usual. This time you say instead: “I've played on both fast pitch and slow pitch teams. Regarding positions, I can be pitcher, shortstop, left fielder, and roamer in the outfield.” Murmurs of admiration sound around the table.

 

“Oh, I'm playing on _your_ team for sure,” Hikaru says, his hand touching your leg under the table. 

 

“Can't you be on _mine_?” a crewmate asks. “Listen, I've already asked Cupcake and Captain Kirk, but...”

 

It's an odd feeling, being in demand. You glance at Hikaru and smile: _just wait until I get you alone_.

 

* * *

 

 Well, this isn't an epilogue after all. I like the character of Hikaru Sulu and I have some sympathy for the OC, so I thought they might have a little more fun together. Someday it would be nice to see Sulu's onscreen character as the strong, smart, sexy charmer that it's fun to imagine him as; until then there's fanfiction. 

 

Please be advised that there will be both sexual content and small deviations from strict Trek canon in later chapters. If absolute adherence to Trek canon for characters is essential for you, please either give the story a chance or consider yourself advised. Otherwise, please enjoy this somewhat fluffy & sweet stuff. Even bridge crew need a break sometimes.

 

 

 


	8. Distance and Desires

It's Not the Liquor Talking : a Hikaru Sulu Star Trek Reboot fanfic

Chapter 8:  Distance and Desires

Characters: Hikaru Sulu, unspecified OC. As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.  _Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

 

  _Delights are in proportion to the privations we have suffered..._

Source:  Quotes and Images from the Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt  (Giacomo Casanova). Edited by David Widger; Project Gutenberg.

* * *

 

 Impressed by Hikaru’s confident description of your skills, your crewmates extract softball-playing promises from you, and you and Hikaru bid them goodbye outside the restaurant.  Sunshine warms the broad pavement; the unscheduled day stretches ahead of you.  Hikaru’s deep brown eyes are warm, too as he smiles at you.

 

“What next?”

 

Months ago, a retired courtesan gave you unsolicited advice.  You assisted the lady during a Starfleet effort to help move earthquake refugees to a new planet.  She restored her smeared eyeliner with the aid of a polished metal mirror tucked into her embroidered sleeve, and thanked you for bringing her hot replicated tea.

 Dr. McCoy advised the crew: “Bear in mind, y'all: some survivors may be anxious and feel a powerful need to talk.  Just be patient and listen to 'em if you've got time but don't neglect your duties.”  

 Tough and still beautiful at one hundred and thirty Earth years, the courtesan didn't look anxious.  Propping her feet upon her dusty traveling bag, she listened to you say the official emergency response words before asking about your own life.  Disarmed by her kindness, you admitted to feeling pride in your Starfleet work and shame in your romantic failings.  After hearing your latest tale of woe she sighed sympathetically.

 “Bit of advice, dearie: a little distance increases desire.  Never swoon so much over a new lover that the fire burns out early. Disappear for a while each day, each month, each year.  When you return to your lover's arms, be kind, affectionate, sociable...before you go away again.  That way, your sense of mystery maintains itself.”

 Exactly the opposite of your behavior.  The clinging; your wish for attention from cruel hearts; the lonely, late night messages you've sent!  You knew you'd behave differently in future, and thanked her awkwardly. 

 “More advice: never travel without escape funds, not even on a date.  Look here.”  She lifted her skirts to reveal several lumpy pockets sewn into the under slip beneath her long dress.  “Always, _always_ have your own resources.  I carry gemstones and at least two currencies, depending on exchange rates.”

 “Yes, ma'am.  Resources, I learned about the hard way.”  Frugality was reality, not a philosophy for you from birth.  Life is better for your siblings and surviving family now – you make sure of it.  Starfleet may help to care for you if you live long enough.  Where does a long-term mate fit into this picture?  Daily you work surrounded by advanced technologies, but it’s hard to imagine having your own companion to love and care for.

 Parting ways, you and the courtesan went on to very different adventures.  Her advice stuck.  Now you try to apply it.

 “Hikaru, do you mind if we meet up a bit later?  I want to run some errands while I'm here.”

 Instantly you see that he doesn't like it. “You really don't want company?  My schedule's clear until the game starts.” 

 “Oh, it's nothing personal, not at all! I'm just buying supplies and gifts for relatives.  It won't take long, but you wouldn't be entertained.”

 “Starfleet would never have accepted me if I had a tiny attention span.  I don't need to be entertained every minute.” 

 You're blocking foot traffic by standing still on the promenade.  “That's not what I meant. This isn't about you. I just...I don't want you to get tired of being around me.”

 Hikaru watches you, arms crossed. “But I'm not tired of you.”  He doesn't say, _not yet_.  “Listen, if you want time alone I'll give you that.”

 Honestly, you neither need nor want solitude now.  You'll have to choose some other time to keep him away from you.  How the courtesan would sigh if she overheard you now:   _Dearie, you have_ _no finesse.  Make him beg_!

 Blundering into honesty, you touch Hikaru's arm.  “Aboard ship with hundreds of people I seem to be alone too often.  Come with me, please; I’d like it much better.  Do visits to a hardware store and the craft district sound tolerable?”

 “Tolerable? Try intriguing. Why wouldn't I want to visit a hardware store with you? I _am_ a pilot, babe.”

 The ease with which Hikaru uses the endearment suggests that he doesn't realize how hearing it affects you, melting away your common sense.  Then again, considering how skillfully he handled your body last night, maybe he knows exactly what he's doing.

 You can’t win.  Do you really want to?

 

...

 

Hikaru watches you curiously as you discuss tools and supplies with the hardware sales clerks.  After browsing the shelves he doesn't buy anything, just leans back against a crate and lets you take charge. 

 

Only once does Hikaru speak up, as you try to choose the best replacement fan blades for a small wind power system on your sister’s farm.  “That 442-B composite blade will be stronger.  The listed elements of that composite are identical to ones used for propellers on a low-altitude, experimental aircraft I flew back in the Bay Area.” 

 

Startled, you say, “Thank you, H- Lieutenant Sulu.”  Hearing his Starfleet rank, the store clerks stand up a little straighter and exchange a look.  The rest of the transaction goes swiftly; you negotiate the best shipping option, sending the purchases off to your siblings. 

 

“Sorry that took so long,” you say as you leave the shop for the crafts market.  Those strong fingers touch the small of your back again, and you're sorry when he moves them as you walk back into public space. 

 “Don't apologize.  You negotiate well.  And no way would I have guessed that you’re so knowledgeable about farming implements.”  He gently elbows you.  “I know where you’re from but you don't talk about yourself much.”

 “Working dawn until dusk on the dirt farm where you were born isn't the stuff of Starfleet dinner party conversation.”

 “Those parties might be more appealing if there were more discussion about how different Starfleet personnel are.  I grew up in San Francisco and the Bay Area, so it would be new to me.”

 “I don't recommend farming colonies as a holiday getaway, but that farm fitness plan, hey! Guaranteed to make you stronger.  Woman, man, child, and the aged: if we worked, then we ate.”  Both of you cross one broad boulevard and enter a different district, marked by way finding signs for planetary tourists.  Hikaru glances at oncoming traffic, but otherwise pays attention to you, so you talk a little more.

 

“Many humanoids prefer sunny, warm weather while on shore leave, right?  This planet has a beautiful climate, but I used to associate sunshine with increased labor.  Bright, dry days meant longer workdays, more weeds to pull, less water for the house and more diverted to the fields. One summer the temperatures got so high that I had to be careful that the water coming out of the hoses didn't give me a third-degree burn.  I don't regret any of it, though.  I began learning about plants and animals from the time I could walk.  I know how to cook and fix things.  My siblings and I figured out how to make our own toys and games.  Made me appreciate life more.”  You’re careful to make your tone of voice light, but Hikaru's expression is a little bit sad.

 “Already I know you're going to protest, but I plan to spoil you while we’re here,”  he says.

 “Thank you, but it's not necessary.  I've been in Starfleet for a while.  I have food and work every day.  I can even buy stuff I don't need just because I like it.”  Both of you enter a broad street lined with craft stalls, shops, and roving vendors.  Shoppers and workers crowd the street, causing you and Hikaru to walk with only a few centimeters of space between you.

 “Very noble of you, treasure,” Hikaru says, so quietly that you can barely hear him over the street noise. “Let me do something for you just because I _like_ doing it.”

 You turn and smile at him.  “Yes, Mr. Sulu.  Order understood.”

 Beneath the cover of the crowd, his fingers graze yours, but he doesn't hold your hand.

 

...

 

The main street of the craft district has shops on both sides.  The street and sidewalks are crowded with shoppers, roving vendors, and workers pushing carts of supplies.  Smells of incense, foodstuffs along with a steady murmur of voices, tools, and rattling wheels of carts combine to provide distractions.  Hikaru walks some distance away, drawn by a display of body armor made from something that looks like leather.  You admire the jewelry and loose gemstones displayed in a shop window, hoping to find a nice gift for your cousin.  Something brushes against your backside, and you jump a little bit.  Why would Hikaru be so careless in this crowded place? Any of your crewmates might be shopping for souvenirs here.

 

For a moment you don’t understand what's happening.  The tall humanoid in front of you has protruding fangs and a piece of metal inset between two beady eyes.  A glob of bubbly spit hangs from one of the fangs, then hits the ground as the being makes a crotch-grabbing gesture and looks at you meaningfully, grunting in a local version of Standard: “Alone?”

 Repelled, you snap, “Not for _you_. Don’t touch me!”

 The being moves closer; “Why not? Can you do better?”

 Past uncomfortable, you're now angry.  “I said _not_ available. Stop!”  Just in time, you back out of reach of a brawny arm.  More drool spatters on the pavement near your shoe. 

 Your shoulder connects with a hard chest.  Suddenly Hikaru stands beside you, growling out a warning. 

 

“No. Mine. _Mine_. Apologize and walk away.”

 

A sideways glance shows you that his eyes are narrowed with a calm, angry focus.  You've seen that look before, during a mission.  Someone got very badly hurt and it wasn't Sulu.

 

Despite the difference in their physical stature the harasser wavers, then makes a deferential chest-brushing gesture, mutters something – “ _Uh, sorry, sorry, not serious any way” –_ and quickly leaves.  Observers of the incident release a collective breath and make scolding noises that aren’t very helpful after the fact. 

 

Hikaru’s arm curls around your waist, too briefly.  You can’t have the comforting hug you want from him so you talk instead.  “Ugh.  Too rude, too persistent.  Hikaru, thank you.” 

 

“Are you all right?  I didn't mean to offend you by claiming you in public.  It just seemed like the quickest way to end it.”

 

“Whatever it takes.  That sort of behavior doesn’t seem typical for this planet’s primary cultures.”  You place a hand on his shoulder, feeling tension drain out of him as he exhales.

 

“Hell, that creep was probably a tourist just like we are.  Federation settlements attract trade and diplomacy but a few assholes usually get through.”   His hand moves at his hip, as though replacing something.  Communicator?  Phaser?  That collapsible katana you’ve heard he uses? 

 “Too bad there’s no way to screen for public civility.  What about you? Are _you_ all right, Hikaru?”

 “Yeah.  In a few minutes I won’t be pissed off anymore.  I don’t do street fights off-duty; not my style.” 

 “Right, not mine either.  I’m glad things didn’t get rough. Let’s move on, huh? I’ll find something for my cousin and we can leave this place. ”

 

...

**_Later, along the coastline_ **

_Suggested driving music: Fela Kuti, _"Roforofo Fight"_ ; _ _Skyjuice, “Key Movement”_

 The smaller storefronts away from the crowd are quieter and cheaper, and it’s there that you find a gift to indulge your cousin’s wish for pretty, impractical things.  You glance over your shoulder a few times, but the tall being doesn’t return.  It would be a shame if the altercation tainted the rest of your morning, so you agree when Hikaru suggests a diverting scenic drive along a nearby coastal area.  At a business near the hotel, he rents a sleek- low-slung vehicle unattached to a track.  Hikaru takes the controls and you leave the compact, bustling city and set off along curving roads and low hills.

 Lowering the window a bit, you lean back to enjoy the breeze and the music on the vehicle’s integrated audio system, linked to both your and Hikaru’s travel communicators.  Conversation is casual.  Then:

 

“Do we need rules for this? What do you want to happen during the next couple of days?”  Hikaru’s hand is steady on the controls as he glances your way.

 

“Rules?  I think we’re managing well so far.  You’ve been kind to me and I hope that I’m being considerate, since I’m staying in your rooms.   I just want us to have as much sex as possible and go out dancing again.  Does that suit you?”

 

Hikaru laughs.  “Most people would try to dress that answer up in different language.”

 

“Guess I’m not very sophisticated,” you shrug.

 

“Hm.  I might disagree with that, but you _are_ honest.”  He steers the vehicle neatly around a curve. 

 

“Maybe we can each schedule in some quiet time to be alone each day.  Figure out how to split expenses.  Keep it simple.”  You glance at the screen of your communicator.  No message about the job transfer yet.

 “Let me pay for the room.” Hikaru insists.  “After all, I invited you.”

 “Only if you let me cover costs of food service in the room.”

 “Details, details.” Hikaru shrugs.  “Good for work, but this is personal.  Did you get into the habit from that parts inventory job you did after you left the farm, before you came to Starfleet?”

 “Yes, I -- how did you know? I don’t think I told you about that job.”

 “Background check and your full bio.  Haven’t you checked _me_ out yet?” he asks, noticing your unease.

 

“Only the official Starfleet officer’s bio.  I guess I assumed you’d just tell me what you wanted me to know about you.  Really, Hikaru; a background check?” The muscles in your shoulders tense.

 

He raises both eyebrows.  “It’s not unusual for Starfleet people, particularly officers, to run security checks on their lovers.”

 

 _Lovers_?  Why did Hikaru use that word?  “I’d like to know exactly when you ran that check.”

 

“Early this morning, after you left to go running.”

 

Should you be glad or sad about his timing?  You’re not sure.  “Hmph.  I hope that my results are acceptable.”

 

“Everything about you is fine with me, fine thing.  Beyond acceptable.  Anyway, the more I know the better prepared I am to help you in an emergency.  Right?”

 

You respond with a grumbling noise.

 

“Oh, treasure. Are you angry?” He rests a hand on your thigh.

 

“Why didn’t you let _me_ tell you about me?  I’m neither a criminal nor ashamed of my life before Starfleet, but...I guess I’d rather have a conversation, interact with you.”

 “Sorry, didn’t think of it that way.”  His hand is still on your thigh.  “After this morning, I think I do know that listening to you tell me about it is better than scanning a file for significant words and phrases.”  Hikaru steals glances at you, steering carefully with one hand.  “Can we start over with this part?  Have a nice meal someplace, and you talk, I listen?”

 Sulu’s simple, clear apology and his disarming attention please you.  “Yes.  Thank you.  But you should talk, too, if you feel like it.”

 Squeezing your thigh in response, he smiles and returns both hands to the controls and his attention to the road.  Other people you trusted have done much worse things to you; and you’ve already forgiven Hikaru.  A small smile of your own lifts the corners of your mouth and your spirits as you lean back in your seat, content to be beside an enchanting man driving you to nowhere particularly important, with sunlight and music all around you.

 

By mutual agreement you stop at a series of increasingly beautiful viewpoints in the hilly countryside, leaving the vehicle to walk and admire the view.   No other humanoids are in the area, and Hikaru rests a hand on the small of your back as you look out at the sea and islands.

 

You touch him in the same place.  “Got a coccyx fetish, handsome? You seem to like touching me down there.”

 

“Nothing’s wrong with your coccyx, babe, but it’s your fine ass I really like.  The small of your back is the road to a beautiful sight.”

 

“Ha!  I’ve seen some fine sights, too.”  Embracing him, you slide your hands into his back pockets.  “When I realized that this was as firm, yet juicy as it looked – ooh!  Made my day.  _Carpe diem.  Carpe pyga_.”

 

Laughing, Hikaru grabs you back and tries to pick you up.  Both of you fall into the grass.  With no one observing except a few tiny lizards, light kisses turn more passionate.  The grass itches, and you’ve both promised to meet crewmates for the softball game so it can’t go much farther than that, but a feeling of anticipation settles low in your body.

* * *

 

 Carpe diem = Latin. Seize the day.

Carpe pyga = Latin.  Seize buttocks.

 _Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.  As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous.

 Enjoying the story? Please take a moment to post a review. Thanks!

 


	9. Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win

**It's Not the Liquor Talking – Chapter 9: Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win**

Characters: Hikaru Sulu, unspecified OC. As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous. _Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

  _No matter how strong a person you are, there is always someone who can make you weak._  


 

_Anonymous_  


* * *

  _ **In the countryside**_

 

You and Hikaru eat an outdoor midday meal at a cafe in one of the villages dotting the countryside. Although the business is clean and tidy you're the only customers. The owner welcomes you and chats with elderly neighbors, who nod greetings at you before settling down for several cups of tea and local gossip in an unfamiliar variant of Standard. Avoiding the tourist menu, Hikaru recommends local dishes to share for a satisfying meal. Everything in your bowl is fresh. The food even looks healthy, even though some of the colors and configurations are unfamiliar. 

 

Fermented beverages lead off the drinks menu. “Just filtered water for me. Gotta be ready for the game later.” It's not the only reason; you want to feel everything while this experience lasts. Hikaru doesn't comment, but he chooses water and later tea. 

 

Earlier he asked you to tell him more about yourself. You do, omitting some of the sadder details, and learn more about him. Lieutenant Sulu seems to be a lot of Starfleet and botany with very little personal life. He loves his family and sends gifts and joke messages to his siblings. Plants have always interested him because of their variety, beauty, and ability to survive in tough environments. He's studied everything from cuisine to dancing to rock climbing. No steady romantic partner. He's vague about his sexual involvement with others. Sparing your feelings? 

 

Hikaru has a few friends scattered around Earth, interplanetary botanical societies, and Federation outposts. Busy life, but with something missing, although he doesn't use those words. Somehow you know that this isn't because he's hiding anything from you: it's the way he really lives. 

 

Comfortable, you both talk so long that the elders leave and the cafe's owner falls asleep in a chair under the eaves of the little building. As gently as possible you awaken her so that you can pay (beating Hikaru to it this time), hurry back to the hotel, and change clothes for the softball game. A speculative look crosses Hikaru's face while both of you get dressed, but he doesn't touch you, and you're uncertain about touching him too freely. 

 

It's only inside lift that Hikaru leans forward for a series of small kisses, pulling away as the door slides back to reveal your crewmates gathered in the lobby. People greet him loudly. “Hey, Sulu! Ready to win?” You follow the crowd into the sunshine. 

 

…

 

_**At the public athletic fields** _

 

_Suggested music: Beastie Boys & Santigold, “Don't Play No Game That I Can't Win”; Lee Morgan, “The Sidewinder”; King Hector & the Soul Dynamite, 'Broasted or Fried'; alternatively, The St. Vincent Latinaires, 'Broasted or Fried'_

 

Like everything else on this carefully managed planet, the playing fields at the massive athletic complex are well maintained. Small outbuildings stand at the edge of each field, outfitted with various types of tech ready to serve every need from communication to first aid to to vending to shelter, should the few clouds in the sky gather to dump rain. Native grasses here tend to be a deep blue, maroon, or yellow rather than bright green (according to what you've seen and read) but much of the Federation business here is connected to Earth so some of the cultivated fields are green. The soft dirt of the softball diamond is a grayish color. 

 

Rolling your shoulders, you feel limber, strong, excited about playing again. You jog onto the diamond to get a feel for the ground. Thanks to your efforts to retain muscle mass and flexibility while in space your body's ready to move. It hasn’t been so long since you last played. During a recent visit with surviving family members you played an impromptu game with everyone, young and old. Stifling your competitive instincts, you slowed down to let your seven-year old cousin to run past third base toward home. Her small face was serious as her thin legs carried her across the grassy stubble of the broad field behind your sister’s house. You remembered too well how it felt like to be a child who rarely won anything. 

 

Captain Kirk speaks loudly so that everyone can hear. “Bridge crew: split up. All _Enterprise_ crew should feel like they can always count on each other, no matter the rank.” 

 

Sulu nods and begins to organize the opposing team, which includes the very tall redshirt Cupcake – an unfair advantage? Just as you begin to move towards the outfield where you assume you'll be expected to play, Captain Kirk stops you. “I’ve heard good things about your pitching.” Winking, he beckons you towards the group of people gathered to play on his team.

 

You’re on the Captain’s team, as pitcher! Such attention would have made you nervous a year ago, especially since Kirk's choice is based upon your crewmates believing what Sulu told them. You grab a ball, glancing around for someone to warm up with. Lieutenant Nyota Uhura smiles and waves her mitt at you, and you join her on the sidelines to toss the ball back and forth while team selection and warmup continues. 

 

Commander Spock has chosen the role of observer, watching from the sidelines with his usual analytical air. Once, you throw the ball a bit too wide and Nyota runs a short distance to get it. Spock turns to watch her, and the Vulcan’s expression actually softens, to which Nyota responds by touching two fingers to her lips in a kissing gesture. Spock doesn't smile back but he looks attentive, and it's easy to see the quiet affection between them. 

 

How did Spock feel when Nyota took the time to learn who he was instead of projecting stereotypes? Obviously your situation with Hikaru Sulu differs, but you think it must have felt very good indeed. Your own shyness means that you sometimes have difficulty expressing yourself, especially when you fear being made unwelcome in certain settings because you are different. 

 

“On the field, everybody. We're doing seven innings. Play ball!” Jim Kirk shouts. 

 

Muscle memory gives you a sense of readiness you remember from town league games played on hardscrabble fields. Enjoyment of the game, of being part of a team, drove you more than desire to win. The athletic scholarship your coach mentioned also hovered at the edge of your consciousness but you were already a good student by then, and had the Starfleet recruiter’s contact details memorized. _Always leave yourself an out_. 

 

Did Hikaru change his mind and choose the opposing team in order to tease you? He flashes you a cocky, challenging grin from the sidelines, flexing one muscular arm and placing his other hand atop his biceps before stepping up to bat. 

 

 _Oh yeah, handsome?_ Tilting your head, you use your body to talk back. Firmly planted on the pitcher’s plate, you shift your weight back on one foot and arrogantly stick out your chest a little as you size up your good-looking opponent. This routine used to intimidate batters, but with Hikaru it becomes flirtation. Rapidly you move into position, shifting your center of gravity to direct your pitching power where you need it. When the ball leaves your hand it can’t go anywhere but directly into the catcher’s mitt.

 

Hikaru is genuinely surprised when the bat in his hands doesn’t connect, as are you. The _Enterprise_ helmsman’s prowess in fencing and hand-to-hand combat is widely known, so you expected he’d be equally deadly with a softball bat thanks to his excellent hand-eye coordination. Nervously, you watch his face for signs of resentment.

 

“Lucky shot,” Hikaru shouts. He gives you a mock frown. Not angry, then; but you doubt that he'll want you to go easy on him.

 

Another pitch. Another _whoosh_ as the bat meets air. _How?_ You saw his alert stance, his strong muscles flexing beneath his T-shirt (even now you can’t stop admiring him). Murmurs of amazement go up from Starfleet crewmates around the field. _Sulu, miss? No!_

 

Time now for the third and final pitch with Hikaru at bat. His body is all taut lines of readiness. You _could_ soften this pitch up a little, but –

 

 _Whomp_. The ball zips past the bat and smacks into the catcher’s mitt. Crewmates yell, whistle, and comment in disbelief. Jim Kirk shouts and makes broad gestures of amazement. Spock blinks. 

 

Hikaru wags his finger at you in the side-to-side ‘naughty’ gesture. It’s a somewhat rude visual communication, but it fits this context so you don’t mind. Perhaps it’s not nice to strike out someone you’re sleeping with.

 

Later, as the teams change field positions for the next inning, your teammates pat you on the shoulder, applaud, and give you words of praise. Hikaru walks up to you and speaks in a low voice. “Great pitching; you've got excellent focus. I didn't even get to bunt that ball. It's been a long time since anybody struck me out like that.”

 

“Thank you, I think. I just did my best.”

 

“Your fine ass is _mine_ later, babe.” 

 

“Come and get me, Mr. Sulu.” You put all the seductive tones into your voice that you can. 

 

For a moment Hikaru looks at you as though you're alone; his fingers clench around the mitt in his hands, his nostrils flare, and his gaze drops to your mouth. Then he takes a deep breath, smiles and nods for the benefit of observers, and walks away. You've got six innings to go before you have to figure out how to get back into the hotel room without anyone noticing that you and Hikaru are hurrying to the same floor. 

 

* * *

 Next chapter: well, you know what's coming. Some mildly NSFW activity. Please take a moment to review/comment; thank you for reading!

 _Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.


	10. A Little Steam

**It's Not the Liquor Talking – Chapter 10: A Little Steam**

Characters: Hikaru Sulu, unspecified OC, various _Enterprise_ crew. As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous. _Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

Warnings: Some sexual content in this chapter.

* * *

 

_Suggested music: The Hidden Orchestra, “Spoken”_

 

The rest of the softball game is as much fun as you'd hoped. Feeling completely included in a Starfleet social activity boosts your confidence. Talking and laughing with everyone feels easier than it would have a year ago. Captain Kirk's effort to erase barriers of rank succeeds as crewmates from different divisions join forces on teams. Voices cheer and shout encouragement for both novice and experienced players. Sulu plays cheerfully but ferociously, as though he's burning off excess, barely controlled energy. What will happen when he directs that energy at you? 

 

Jim Kirk is surprisingly versatile; he moves quickly for a big man, hustling across the outfield to meet the ball in flight. Kirk could probably pitch well or serve as a base player himself if he weren't trying to ensure that other teammates have opportunities to fill those roles. At the Academy Kirk had a reputation as a barely responsible pretty boy who was intellectually brilliant and sexually voracious, simultaneously arrogant and fragile. Now he functions empathetically and effectively as a Starfleet Captain...though the rumors of his sleeping around linger. Funny how people can change. Harsh judgment of others doesn't come easily to you, because you remember how quickly people used to dismiss you. 

 

Softball in this balmy climate produces sweat, and you want to wash after the game ends. That grand double-headed shower stall awaits you at the hotel. Two could share; it's the size of a small room. The adrenaline rush from the game lingers as you and your crewmates sip water, then gather the borrowed softball gear and return it to the fieldhouse. Watching Hikaru play stoked a fire of aroused anticipation in your mind and body. A few hours stretch between now and the scheduled dinner with Federation representatives. 

 

If you can just get Hikaru's attention, you can whisper reasons to hurry back to the hotel: shower, nap, something more? He's sipping water, chatting to a couple of navigational crew. One hand brushes back his thick, black hair; you watch his bicep flex below the sleeve of his black T-shirt and your eyes lock with his. Having learned a few things about Hikaru since last night, you clearly understand the look he gives you. He wants you, too. 

 

 _Enterprise_ crew members walk back to the hotel in a long, loose line of people. Some rush ahead to clean up and cool off. Others stroll, enjoying sociable chatter in a relaxed, safe environment. Uncomfortably, you realize that whether you dash ahead or dawdle, there's a strong possibility that your colleagues will see you and Hikaru take the lift together on your way to his luxurious suite on the hotel's upper floor. 

 

Hikaru glances at you again as he half-listens to Captain Kirk's animated rehash of the game. A slight tension in his expression shows that he also recognizes the problem. Both of you are sweaty and need to change but your clothes are all in the same place. You quietly moved all of your belongings into Hikaru's room this morning, asking the hotel to direct all messages to your communicator. No need to have Starfleet waste resources for a bed you weren't sleeping in. By the time somebody checked the records and realized you slept elsewhere, you'd already be at your new job, our of the reach of gossip. Or so you rationalized. 

 

' _D'you have hay inside your head, child? Think ahead!'_ people would have sneered at you back home. Creating an alibi never occurred to you. Now everyone will guess that you're sleeping with an officer of superior rank, and your job transfer request may not be taken seriously. The truth about you and Hikaru, which you are only beginning to admit to yourself, won't satisfy anyone. Some may believe your emotions drove you away from the _Enterprise_ ; if you can't handle a fling, what levels of professional responsibility can you be trusted with?Are your crewmates safe around you? Others may assume that you tried to exploit the widely admired Lieutenant Sulu's connections to get the new job. 

 

Following Hikaru's gaze, Captain Kirk turns around to congratulate you. 

 

“That was some _excellent_ pitching! I love my crew; there are so many hidden talents. We'll have to get you on the field again soon.”

 

Smiling to banish your anxiety, you return Kirk's thumbs-up gesture. “Thank you, Captain. I could do with more practice.” 

 

“Modest, aren't you? You did good! No complaints from me. Sulu may disagree with me on that, though.” Kirk playfully elbows Sulu in the ribs, eliciting an uneasy smile from his trusted helmsman.

 

For the first time you see Hikaru looking lost. Apparently he has no ideas about the return to the hotel, either. “Everybody's gotta strike out some time. Uh, Jim, maybe I'll go ahead, catch up with everyone later...do some cool-down exercises. Just in case, for, uh, my elbow.” 

 

Misreading Hikaru's expression, Jim says, “Aww, forgive and forget already, Sulu.” Jim nods in your direction. “How about this: we get you two on the same team next time?”

 

Hikaru's eyes widen for a moment. “Sounds great,” he says in a flat tone of voice. 

 

 _Air!_ _Take a deep breath!_ Your hands tremble as you glance down at your communicator. Maybe it's best if you just sneak away, call the hotel, plead with them to book you into another room if there are any left, and stay the hell away from Hikaru Sulu for the next two days while you recover from the spell this man's cast over you. 

 

A couple of local passerby on the broad promenade fall loosely in step with the Starfleet crew, in sight but out of earshot, casting sidelong looks at Jim Kirk. A bit too casually, he raises the hem of his shirt as though to better take in the afternoon breeze, and they smile at the sight of the Captain's toned abdomen. 

 

“Cool-down exercises, Sulu? Well, I'm gonna cool down too,” Jim drawls, looking the passerby up and down. 

 

“Like hell you are,” Hikaru mutters. “You've got an audience. I'd say you're planning to heat up.”

 

Shrugging, Jim beams the legendary Kirk Smile for the benefit of the interested locals. “So? Hey, I haven't seen you with anybody during this planetside visit, Sulu. There are two charmingcitizens here. I _could_ share, if you want,” he adds in a low voice.

 

Hikaru's eyes flick away from Jim, and avoid yours. “Nah. Thanks, though. I'm not doing anything, or _anyone_ , during this trip. Not that way.” 

 

The response is hasty, intended to conceal. It should make you feel better; Hikaru’s simply doing exactly what you asked him to do: protecting your privacy. Unreasonably, it bothers you, and you wish that he'd claim you despite the consequences. _Mine._ Earlier today he said it to protect you from unwelcome attention. How would it feel if he'd meant it? 

 

Whatever Hikaru says next will probably make you feel worse, so you offer a vague excuse. “Pardon me, Captain... _Lieutenant_. I just remembered I need to get back to the hotel to check on something. See you both at the dinner.”

 

Barely taking notice of the Captain's nod and Hikaru's frown, you flee, breaking into a run once you're out of sight. Inside the hotel lobby you slow to a walk, then stop. Several E _nterprise_ crewmates stand waiting for the lifts. _Now what?_ Some of them are staying on your old floor, near the room you moved out of this morning. The open access door to a stairwell is a few meters away from the row of lifts. Making excuses about some fitness plan you're trying to maintain, you enter the stairwell and start climbing, thinking: _This would_ _go_ _a lot faster inside a Jeffries tube_. 

 

Yeah, and Engineer Scott would ask what sort of daft behavior you were up to. _What's your game, then?_ _Those tubes are nae made for assignations!_

 

By the fifth floor your legs and newly healed ankle begin to protest. Carefully, you open the landing door and step into the hallway just as _Enterprise_ personnel exit the lift; you duck around a corner until their voices fade. 

 

The hallway is quiet. Can you risk it? Pulling in a deep breath you sprint for the lifts, smacking your hand against the panel. Soon a lift arrives. It contains an elderly couple holding hands, an Andorian, and an unfamiliar humanoid wearing a breathing device and peering at the screen of a small padd. Apologizing for your sweaty, disheveled state, you explain that you'll be getting off the lift soon. The Andorian scowls, while the elderly couple assure you that you aren't bothering them. The humanoid squints at you in confusion – perhaps the device filters sweaty smells – before continuing to examine the padd. 

 

 _No Starfleet, no crewmates get on, please_ ; your heart thumps until the lift arrives at Hikaru's floor with a sprightly little chime. Racing down the hallway, you palm the door lock, hoping that your programmed ID hasn't mysteriously dropped out of the recognized user list since Hikaru added you this morning. _Calm down_! You _do_ belong here, sort of. The door opens and you stagger inside, panting in need of air and calm as you discard your clothes on the bedroom floor. 

 

When Hikaru finally arrives, you're bathing under one of the double showerheads in the second bathroom, the one you've claimed for your own use. “It's me,” he calls out as he enters, and heads for the other bathroom, the one connected to the suite's main bedroom. Several minutes pass. Suddenly you feel like a guest. Technically you _are_ a guest, as Hikaru chose this suite, but that's not the real problem. 

 

Instead of simply walking in Hikaru taps on the door. “Come in,” you shout, wiping soap from your face. 

 

“Requesting permission to enter.” Hikaru appears on the other side of the glass, wearing a towel around his waist. You aren't angry with him now. Truth be told, your feelings are still in a bit of chaos, but he's been considerate. He knocked before entering the bathroom and he's been tactful about your deception. Your raging desire to rip that towel away from his waist may have something to do with your jumbled feelings, too. 

 

“Granted.”

 

Hikaru whisks the towel away and tosses it over a rack, leaving him clad in nothing but his own glorious skin. Your knees go weak and you clutch one of the carved handles set into the tiles so that you won't slip. 

 

Nose to nose, you both stand and let the water stream down over both of you. This is a water-rich planet. Real showers, particularly long, warm ones, are a heady indulgence for starship crew. Getting wet with him feels good.

 

“Took you long enough, handsome.”

 

Hikaru rubs his cheek against yours, his skin made slick by the water. “Had to keep up appearances. That's what you want, isn't it?”

 

“Um, yes.” It's a brief hesitation, but you can tell that Hikaru notices. “Better to hide it. You're ranked above me.”

 

“Not in here, babe; we're equal.” Hikaru kisses you, loose and soft, water flowing between your mouths. For a moment you can't tell where he ends and you begin; then he steps away. “Wash your back?”

 

“Sure, thanks. Then I'll do yours.”

 

Once again you're reminded of how strong he is as his fingers knead your muscles in between soaping and scrubbbing. “Are you angry with me for telling Jim I wasn't involved with anyone while we're on planet?” he asks. Maybe that question's easier for him when he isn't looking at your face.

 

“How could I be? I'm the one who asked you to keep a secret.” You turn around and indicate that you're ready to wash his back. Hikaru's got adorable dark brown moles in interesting places, and you kiss a few of them, drawing out an “mmm” sound from him. You try to return the kindness he showed you, pressing into his muscles in soothing motions. “Anyway, it isn't like we're involved in a real courtship. This is a fling for both of us.”

 

Hikaru's shoulders tense beneath your fingers. “ I'm willing to be open about this, and support you if you have problems. Anyway it'd make things easier. I hung around the lobby talking when I wanted to be here with you, all because we can't be seen coming back to the room together. We're consenting adults, babe; the sneaking around isn't necessary. ”

 

“Easy to say when you've got nothing to lose! You're already at the top of your game in Starfleet. I've got a way to go. The only way this could be easier would be if we weren't assigned to the same ship.”

 

Hikaru turns around, resting his hands on your hips. “Others on the _Enterprise_ fraternize. Most of it's quiet, but not hidden.”

 

“Most of it's long-term, too. Hikaru, if _you_ sleep with someone, I doubt that many people will speculate about your motives for having sex with that person. Someone like me – people will wonder why I set my sights so high as a bridge officer, and what I'm trying to gain by it. It's not the same; I'm not free to just _want_.”

 

“No. This is Starfleet: not that colony you grew up on, where the sun was hot and the attitudes were backward. Rank and class aren't the same for us.” Hikaru sighs heavily and steps under the second showerhead to rinse the soap from his body. 

 

Fears of another broken, fragile connection form a ball of tension in your stomach. Not bothering to hide your disappointment, you turn away from him and lean against the wall, closing your eyes and wishing you knew what to say. 

 

“I know what to do with you, treasure.” Hikaru's arms feel solid and reassuring, and you open your eyes to look at him. “Some plants need to be watered very carefully. Just the right amount, being careful about when and how you water them. Paying attention to the plant's response tells you a lot. Care and time are important.” His fingers smooth water droplets over your cheekbones. “I like the shape of your face.”

 

“Thank you. You already know how much I like yours.”

 

“Somehow I think that I haven't been good enough to you yet. Will you let me try?”

 

“In one day, you've already been kinder to me than many people I've known.”

 

Hikaru opens his mouth over yours. “Forget them,” he whispers, and kisses you again. Fear and the fragments of your disagreement slide away.

 

“Do you have any idea what you did to me out there?” Hikaru moans against your neck. “I've _never_ been teased like that before. The way you held your body, and those _looks_ you gave me – how long does it usually take before your lovers surrender and obey your every command?”

 

“Hm. I wouldn't dignify 'em with the term 'lovers' and believe me, most of 'em didn't want me taking charge of _anything_.”

 

“Fools. I've been fighting to keep it soft all afternoon ever since you struck me out.”

 

“So you really weren't annoyed by that?”

 

“I like a good challenge. “ Hikaru strokes your wet face. “Maybe we should spar sometime.”

 

“Sparring with me won't be a challenge. Anyway, once I fall down on the mat I'll want you down there with me and the _last_ thing I’ll need from you is combat.” You pump a handful of soap from the dispenser in the wall and smear it over, under, around his arms and chest before reaching lower. Hikaru’s got a lovely treasure trail; it starts out light, with only a few hairs below his navel, and thickens as you go along.

 

Hikaru's hands move over your own body, and soon both of you are rubbing and sliding against each other. Were you really annoyed with him earlier? Why?

 

“Let me wash your hair for you,” you say as he reaches for the shampoo. Adding a mild scalp massage that makes him groan with pleasure, you work the liquid in and do a thorough job, then rinse.

 

Surrounded by steam and wetness, you fall under a new spell. Last night Hikaru controlled the pace of your desire; now each of you leads and follows the other without a clear commander. When you press your lips against the pulse on his neck, Hikaru makes sounds of surrender; the next moment he presses his erection against your belly and it's your own voice that purrs, then pleads. 

 

Water and the slippery layer of soap make your hands glide over the muscles in Hikaru's arms and back. Slowing down lets you learn more about how his body works: you feel muscles tense, relax, then flex as he moves with you. Supporting you with one arm, he bends you back to suck your nipples – obviously your particular sensitivity still fascinates him. It feels different here in the shower, and you nearly lose your balance as your hips involuntarily thrust towards him in response. Hikaru's strong arms keep you upright, and you grasp a safety handhold while you're gulping in air and water droplets, voicing sounds you'd be ashamed of around anyone else.

 

Finally it's too much. Turning around, you spread your palms flat on the smooth glass-and-clay composite wall and look back over your shoulder at Hikaru. He rests his body against your back and...stops.

 

“I don’t have that cream in here,” he explains, “and even if I did it can’t be used in water.”

 

“Oh. Of course. You don’t have anything else here?”

 

“No. Didn’t think of it earlier.”

 

“Hikaru, you know I would let you...without it.”

 

Leaning against your back, he rests the side of his face against yours. “Oh, treasure. I’d be careful with you if we did, but you know we shouldn’t. Anyway,” he sighs, “don't ever trust anyone that much.”

 

“Don't you know I trust you?”

 

“I’m glad that you _do_ trust me, but...I hope you aren't always this open.” Seeing your questioning frown, he changes the subject and gently turns you around. “I could just order something else from the machines but honestly, I don’t want to wait that long.” Hikaru steps out of the water onto the absorbent bath rug, arms outstretched. “Come with me?”

 

“Water, lights: stop,” you say, and step out into the steamy haze as the bathroom's computer shuts both down. Hikaru bends and hoists you onto his shoulder, prompting your surprised laughter, and carries you off.

 

…

 

Reality trespasses on your tryst. You’re in bed (well, _on_ the bed) with Hikaru, pillows kicked off onto the floor, the sheets twisted. Your mouths are busy between each others' thighs, each of you trying to excite the other more. Blood pulses with a steady thump beneath your fingertips where you touch the hollow of his hip. The chiming of your communicator dams the rising tide of lust.

 

“Mmph.” You release Hikaru. “Sorry, that’s my comm.”

 

His head falls back, and he blinks at you in disbelief. “Can't it wait?”

 

“I just want to turn it off, sorry. Maybe if I got this kind of good sex on the regular, I’d remember to mute the audio on my devices. I'm really sorry.” 

 

Reluctantly, Hikaru lets you go. “Stop apologizing and hurry, babe. I thought you were off duty,” he grumbles. 

 

“Aww, you know you come first,” you reply, reaching over the side of the bed to fumble through your clothing strewn over the floor. For one of the few times in your life you didn’t fold your clothes immediately after removing them. 

 

“Babe, I woulda made _you_ come first, if your damned comm hadn’t gone off.”

 

A new message indicator flashes on the comm screen above a message preview: _Thank you for submitting your request. It is now under review by Starfleet and you will be contacted as soon as possible following_ _the completion of required review and evaluation procedures, within parameters specified in Starfleet Administrative Code (SAC) 1.266.B, Section 9_ _…_

 

Exhaling loudly in impatience, you tap the 'silent' setting on the device and drop it back into the pile of clothes.

 

Typically alert, Hikaru leans up on one elbow. “Something wrong?”

 

“No! Everything’s fine, handsome. Really, no problem.” You smile and resume your position. “Back to where we were?”

 

Hikaru’s eyes narrow slightly. Clearly, he doesn’t believe you, but desire must still be coursing through his body as powerfully as it does yours, because he doesn’t make you stop and talk. Instead he clasps your thighs in his hands again. “C’mere, liar.”

 

“I never tell lies in bed,” you reply. 

 

Once again, you give in to the demands of your body.

 

* * *

 

Next chapter: Actions speak louder than words, and you can't always be sure who's listening.

 

If you've read this far and you like this way of presenting Sulu as a character, please take a moment to post a review/comment.

As an experiment, I've made the identity of the main protagonist of this piece ambiguous. _Disclaimer_ : I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.


	11. Act Like You Know

**It’s Not the Liquor Talking: a Star Trek Sulu Fanfic**

**Chapter 11: Act Like You Know**

 Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.  As an experiment (for my writing skills, which I’m developing), the identity of the protagonist is ambiguous. Warnings this chapter: long word count (+5k)

…

**_In the hotel room_ **

 

“Chin up, please, and I'll straighten your tie for you.”  Hikaru stops fidgeting as you adjust the old-fashioned neckwear, an accessory to one of the two suits he's brought along on this trip. 

 

“Thanks, babe.  I should try to be more excited about this Federation business dinner,” he sighs. “Frankly, I'd rather count blades of grass in the park behind the hotel.”

 

“Surely it won't be that bad, handsome.  At least we _Enterprise_ crew aren’t required to wear formal dress uniform.” You finish with the tie and brush a hand over his collar, vest, and lapels, a little routine you’d enjoy performing daily if things were different between you.

 

“Maybe they let us wear civilian clothes to this event as compensation for listening to speeches while we eat,” Hikaru says dryly.  “Even the lightweight versions of those gray officers' uniforms might be uncomfortable in this climate.  I'm glad I bought this suit in tropical weight fabric.” 

 

Looking Hikaru up and down, you rub your hands together, mimicking an expression of greed.  “Mm…tropical weight or otherwise, you look so _hot_ in that suit, Mr. Sulu.  Wait until folks get an eyeful of you.”

 

“They'll forget all about me once they see _you_ , Treasure.  You look wonderful.  Elegance personified.”  Hikaru leans forward for a light kiss.  Tonight you wear colors and a style flattering to your skin and body shape. It's not the most expensive clothing, but it is well-made, some of the nicest you've ever owned.  Lingering effects of your afternoon rendezvous and nap relax your shoulders and hips; you feel attractive.

 

“Thank you.  At least I won’t get hassled by the authorities for dressing up here.  I’m going to have fun tonight.”  You caress his cheek and step away to look yourself over in the mirror.

 

“What do you mean, hassled for dressing up?” Hikaru’s reflection looks back at you, puzzled.

 

“Oh, something that happened back on the farm colony.” You turn to face him and explain.  “One year I saved money from working the harvest on other people’s farms, and I bought myself some nice clothes.  I saved ‘em for a trip to town, where I was going to listen to some friends playing music.   Got myself all dressed up, put on a broad-brimmed hat to protect my head from the sun, and began walking into town.  One of the security forces sped past me on a hoverbike; I’d only seen hoverbikes a few times before, and the SecForces had a reputation for cruelty, so I was scared.”  Even years later, the memory makes you shiver in the climate-controlled air of the hotel.

 

“The SecForce demanded to know where I was going and why; I told her politely, ‘cause my family had trained me how to behave around SecForces so they wouldn’t harm you.  After I answered her questions she snapped, ‘Where’d you get those clothes?’

 

            ‘Harvest money I earned this season, Ma'am,’ I said.

 

            ‘They’re too fine for the likes of you.  You’ll draw attention to yourself.  Go home and change.’”

 

 Hikaru has taken hold of your hand without your noticing.  “What did you do?”

 

“Went home and changed, of course. Who was going to listen to a dirt farmer like me if I complained? SecForces were armed, and they made decisions about who could do what on the spot -- there was no clothing law, but I had no power in that situation.  Even if I’d tried taking a different road, someone else might have stopped me.  So I put on some simple, clean clothes and got to town just before the music started.”

 

 Hikaru mutters a phrase you’ve never heard before; it’s in Standard, and appears to be some sort of curse.  You decide to leave it alone.  Shaking his head, he rolls the tension from his shoulders.  “Have you ever thought about telling the Federation about things like this?”

 

“That happened to me before our colony joined the Federation, and the social and legal climate changed.  That's one reason I’m so loyal to Starfleet and any Federation entities; parts of daily life got a little bit... not easier, but more normal, maybe.  Some of the SecForce abuses were dealt with by a commission.  As for the other stuff that happened on the colony -- many people don’t usually want to hear about such things.”

 

“Better to know about things and learn not to repeat them. I’m not afraid to hear about it.”  He’s touching you again, stroking your back.  The sick feeling that usually rises in your stomach when you remember the incident begins to fade. 

 

“You’re kind.  Sweet.  I wish...”  You lean into him a little, and then stop yourself.  “We should probably leave for the embassy now.”

 

“I’d actually enjoy this meet’n’greet if you were seated beside me.” Hikaru gathers what he needs to go out, pocketing small items or clipping them to his belt: his communicator, a little box of herb candies, an unidentifiable dark gray cylinder vaguely resembling a sword hilt.

 

“Formal seating arrangements at events like this one give bridge officers valuable time to talk with Federation higher-ups and make connections.”

 

“Babe, I _know_ that; doesn’t mean I _like_ that.  I want a break from it.  Who are you sitting with?”

 

“No idea,” you shrug.  “I kind of forgot to turn in my seating request form.”

 

Hikaru purses his lips, looking skeptical.  “Hard to believe that someone as detail-oriented as you would forget.”

 

“All right, I had a fit of shyness and was too insecure to suggest names.  The computers probably ran an algorithm to find appropriate seatmates for me.  No problem, I’ll mind my manners and be sociable.  I’m happy to talk to anybody, as long as they don’t mind chatting to lower-ranked crew.”

 

“Starfleet doesn’t observe rigid hierarchies in social interactions.  Don’t worry about rank.  Tonight, relax and talk to the Federation higher-ups like you’d talk to anyone else.  Let them know more about your background, your skills, and your broad knowledge.  Ask how being part of the Federation benefits _them_.  You’ll learn how many people really do care about all the people of the Federation.  Most of them care about more than job titles or official duties.” 

 

Hikaru trails his fingers over the back of your hand.  “Starfleet personnel get together all the time, y’know. Space is lonely.  People have their opinions no matter what you do, so you might as well live.”  Hikaru sighs.  “Will you at least walk to the embassy with me?  If we leave now we can take the long route through the park. Fewer Starfleet people may pass through that way.”

 

“Yes, let’s go now.  We probably won't be within speaking distance of each other again until the crew party scheduled after the dinner.  Let’s enjoy our time, eh?”

 

“All right.  Compromise.”  He clasps your hand as you walk to the door. “Let's live dangerously for the next thirty minutes.”

 …

  ** _A stroll among the park gardens_**

 

The curving paths of the park are quiet except for the conversation of passerby and small animals chirping, tapping, and squawking.  Imported plants thrive in this planet’s warm climate, arranged in well-tended beds of dark, rich soil.  It's energizing to be surrounded by so many colors, scents, and shapes.  Perhaps it's good that you accepted Hikaru's suggestion that the two of you leave early, because he walks so closely to you that you occasionally feel his sleeve of his brush against yours.  Even the crewmates who rarely speak to you might notice.  Some of your friends among the crew might be puzzled by the sheer enthusiasm with which you and Hikaru discuss the plants and the merits and drawbacks of managing invasive and imported species.

 

Comfortable in this plot of verdant nature flourishing in the city, you are chatty and animated.  Every few meters you pause to identify familiar plants along the sides of the path and in beds. 

 

“Many of the plants where I grew up weren't native to our planet either, but people knew they could profit by growing them so they went right ahead.  See that one – we called it 'peddler plant’ at home, because it was more than a just a trailing vine.  Later in the season those pods will swell with edible segments.  Good for calming chest colds, that one.  It travels and it brings something useful; that's why it had that common name, 'peddler'.” 

 

A different spike of green catches your attention.  “Oh, and that flowering plant with the tubular petals – sometimes when I took the animals out to graze I'd look for that.  Pinch it off at this section here and you can taste a sweet sap, a real treat.  My family sold the beets we grew for sugar.  I rarely had sweets as a kid.”

 

Hikaru watches you admiringly.  “Would you consider helping me improve my botanical database?  It needs more colloquial terms and folk medicine applications.  Of course, I'll be sure to give you credit for your knowledge. Why didn't you visit me in the garden lab aboard the _Enterprise_ more often?”

 

Hikaru maintains a laboratory – more of a small botanical garden, really -- aboard the _Enterprise_ , maintaining his academic knowledge of plants through experiments and growing things simply for fun.

 

“There were so many other visitors; I'm surprised that you remember my being there at all.”   Many of the plants in the garden lab were beautiful, or held sentimental value for people of various cultures.  Crew sat gazing at flowers or trays of green grass dotted with clover. “Truth is, I came to the plant lab because I was...not exactly homesick for the farm, but I missed being around living plants and people who were interested in them.  I always enjoyed talking to you, but someone else always came to the lab and distracted you, so I usually left.”

 

“You should have stayed. I wanted to talk to you. Usually, you came to the garden lab during the busiest times: after meals, crew shift.  Maybe I should have just asked you to schedule a time with me, alone.”   Hikaru presses his shoulder to yours as you walk past a large bush in full, fragrant bloom.

 

A glimmer of awareness unsettles your thoughts, but you stifle it.  Realism is better. Two days to go.  It's a fling, nothing more.  Starfleet may contact you about the station job, and you'll have other decisions to make.

 

…

  _ **Inside the Embassy**_

The setting of the Starfleet crew dinner astonishes you.  Dimmed lighting, tiny table lanterns, scented floral plants, and soft floor matting create an almost sensual atmosphere.  It's very different from the cold, perfunctory environment you'd expected.  Despite the presence of stern-looking Federation officials, you feel at ease.  Your heart pounds faster as you remember Hikaru’s encouragement to put yourself forward a bit more, ride the waves of your modest ambitions.  All your life you’ve wanted to be part of something larger than yourself.  You believe that the Federation and Starfleet are forces for good.  Tonight you belong here, ready as always to watch, listen, and learn. 

 

Within seconds of entering the banquet room, Sulu's surrounded by Federation higher-ups and swept away from you by a tide of important people.  Mercifully, some local Federation officials make friendly conversation with you before you find your assigned table. 

 

Large gatherings such as this are daunting for many people.  Across the room you glimpse First Officer Spock, his broad shoulders stiff beneath the draped fabric of the Vulcan tunic he wears.  Lieutenant Uhura is beside him; even from a distance you see how she carefully manages people’s curiosity about the Vulcan officer.  She takes the pressure to converse away from Spock by getting his questioners to talk about themselves, while Spock speaks perhaps one sentence out of every twenty.   It’s a useful trick; by the end of the dinner, the questioners may recall how surprisingly sociable Spock was – _a good guy, that Spock; we talked for hours!_

 

The woman seated at your left, an ensign new to the _Enterprise_ , admits to shyness and you try to make her feel more comfortable.

 

“Don't feel alone; big events like this make me a bit nervous too,” you admit. “Somehow I usually manage to forget about myself and have at least a little fun.  You’ll be all right; you’re brave.   I've seen you scale a steep rock wall on an away mission using risky handholds.”

 

“Federation dinners are a different sort of scary.  Maybe I can just think of this as indoor climbing wall, as compared to a cliff on some asteroid.” 

 

“We're here to catch you if you fall,” you say, raising your water glass. 

 

“Starfleet teamwork, always!  Even though they've seated the bridge crew with higher-ups tonight.  I liked the way Captain Kirk tried to bring us together for the softball game,” a man at the table says.

 

“Sulu's so competitive.  Is he still annoyed with you for striking him out today?” a different man jokes.  “He keeps looking over here.  Watch out – maybe he'll challenge you to a duel later.”

 

Before you can control yourself, your head turns toward Sulu.  He’s seated with a cluster of Federation officials; Captain Kirk; Commander Spock; and Lieutenant Uhura.  During pauses in the conversation he steals glances at you.  

 

Smiling blankly, you shrug at your table mates. “Nah, it’s fine.  We talked after the game.  Sulu wasn’t bothered.  He even complimented me.”  A lie?  No, but a fairly generous euphemism for what you and Hikaru did to each other’s bodies a few hours ago.

 

“Takes a good player to recognize a good player,” drawls the woman on your right. “Sulu’s kind of intense.  Can you imagine sleeping with him?”

 

Luckily there's no water in your mouth so you don’t spit it out all over the tasteful table decorations.  You _hate_ Starfleet gossip.  Especially now. 

 

“Ehh...duty and the mission come first, right?” you reply noncommittally. 

 

“Ha!  Aren’t you sweet?” someone else teases.  “I know they grow ‘em innocent on that farm colony you’re from, kiddo, but think about it.  Sulu’s only human: a _good-looking_ human, and definitely _not_ a celibate human from what I’ve heard.” 

 

A little twinge of jealousy constricts your breathing for a few awful seconds.  Of course you don't believe that Hikaru lives an ascetic life, but due to your need for secrecy you can't even justify asking your crewmate to kindly shut the hell up.  Fortunately a local Federation official joins your table, ending the Sulu talk.

 

As the overhead lights dim and the welcome speech begins, you reach for a carafe of the local wine to dull the edge of your discomfort, but decide to refill your water glass instead.  When your emotions pitch low into sadness, one glass rapidly turns into three.  You know your limit.  With a clear head you won't do anything to shame Sulu or yourself.

 

Everyone stands for ceremonial welcoming statements by a Federation representative and Captain Kirk, then take their seats as the first speech begins. 

 

When you lean back, you can see the sculpted swoop of Hikaru's hair several tables over.  As usual he faces the door as though watching for intruders.  Recognizing this protective behavior of his kindles a flame in you.  Wicked parts of your mind spin a fantasy of being kidnapped, then rescued by Hikaru.  He doesn’t completely untie you right away. Instead he looks down at you; his tongue sweeps across his bottom lip.  Hikaru releases the bonds at your ankles.  Then he loosens his body armor, reaching down to…

 

 _Cool off!_ You reach for your water again and attempt to concentrate on the speech.

 

After the speech, the meal begins.  You focus on the Federation and Starfleet people at your table, asking them about themselves, listening, and feeling genuinely included in the group.  People swap tales of adventure and discuss their favorite things about the planet you're visiting.  

 

Planetside travel without deadly missions relaxes crewmates.  Soon you're laughing at someone's joke, a natural, open laugh with your head thrown back.  Afraid of being too loud, you glance around to see if anyone was bothered by it.  Sulu's beautiful dark eyes meet yours and for a few seconds, everything else in the room blurs into muted abstraction. 

 

A man in gray clothing drones on about something at Sulu's table, unaware of the pilot's distraction. 

The beautifully shaped curves of Hikaru's lips part as he mouths a word: _help_.  It makes you want to laugh again, but then you'd have to explain it to your table mates.  Instead you purse your lips slightly in a gesture open for his interpretation as a kiss.  For a second he looks stunned, his expression dreamy.  Then the man in gray ceases talking to ask a question and Hikaru quickly turns away to answer.

 

…

 

The dinner ends and you unmute your communicator, noticing a message light blinking; it’s your sister. 

 

Worried, you hurry away from the jovial buzz of conversations between people freed from an official obligation and ready for the more pleasant obligation of the _Enterprise_ crew party.  Music, dancing, drinks, a crewmate’s birthday, and a beach front location were all mentioned in the invitation that popped up in your list of crew messages this morning.  Depending upon the urgency of your sister’s message you may miss some of the festivities. 

 

In the lobby, you stand by the wall and try to contact your sister.  It takes a long moment of working through relay systems to get audio and video working sufficiently, but soon your sister regards you, wide-eyed, from the tiny screen.

 

“Sis! All good?”

 

“Yeh, Longlegs,” she says, using your childhood nickname. “Why are you dressed like that? Thought you were still on Starfleet duty.”

 

“I am, but I just left a planetside ceremonial event.”  You don’t say which planet and she knows better than to ask.  “They let us wear civilian clothes.”

 

“Aren’t you just living it up, then, while we’re stuck on the farm?  Just kidding – you couldn’t get me aboard one of those flying tin wagons unless it was a real emergency.  I’ll stay safe right here on the ground.   Listen, I contacted you for a reason.”

 

Unease creeps along your spine.  “Uh, Sis, you know that I can’t keep paying for –“

 

“No, pay attention, will you?  Galaxies and heavens!  You always _did_ jump to conclusions and imagine the worst.  Besides, you don’t pay for that much; we’ve got things under control here.  I need to talk to you about those supplies you’re sending here by the freighter.”

 

Relieved, tension flows out of your shoulders.  “So you got the message, then?  A freighter will bring the crates to you within the week.  They’re good supplies, Sis; you’ll be able to upgrade the power system.  I was careful to choose durable materials.  Hikaru even gave me advice –“ 

 

You freeze.  Too late.  “Ooh, look at that big ol’ smile.  Who’s Hikaru?”  Even on the tiny screen, you recognize the keenly perceptive look on her face.

 

Lowering your voice, you stammer, “Uh, he, uh – colleague.”  People are streaming out of the banquet hall now, talking, and laughing.   Hikaru is among them; you watch his profile as he turns, trying to make small talk and search the crowd at the same time. 

 

“Colleague, my foot,” only she doesn’t say _foot_. “You’ve got a man!  Longlegs, you never tell me anything!  Act like you know how to _live_ sometimes, can’t you?  I’m your little sister, but you won’t even tell me you’ve got a steady partner.”

 

“It’s not serious like that!” you hiss into the communicator. 

 

“Pssht! Hikaru, you said?”  Tapping sounds leak through the tiny speaker as your sister uses the padd she keeps in the farmhouse office. 

 

Starfleet maintains official public bios of some personnel for publicity and recruiting purposes.  Of course, the dashing pilot Lieutenant Sulu has one; you know because you looked at his bio during the early days of your crush on him.  The bio contains almost no personal information, some vague details available through public military records, and a picture of Hikaru Sulu being devastatingly handsome in dress uniform while he stands next to a small training ship.

 

“Sis, no – don’t look him up!  It’s not what you think.”

 

“Not a relationship?  So your weekend flings give you advice on farm implements?  Huh.  And folks claimed _I_ had poor judgment when I used to go out in the fields with the neighbor boys during harvest season.”

 

 “It’s not like that either,” you snap. 

 

“How is it, then?  Come on, spill it.”  She looks at a screen off to the side, gasps dramatically, and giggles.  “Ooh, that’s your Hikaru?  He’s _purty_.  But a bridge officer!  Social climbing’s risky at that level.  Maybe I don’t know Starfleet the way you do, but you can’t just sleep your way to the top.  Not in a dangerous environment with lives at stake --”

 

“No, I wasn’t – I mean, he wouldn’t – listen, Sis, what were you saying about the parts for wind turbine?  Have you gone all solar there?”

 

“Nah, solar’s fine.  I’d rather have the _money_ for those wind turbine parts you’re sending than the parts themselves.  I researched prices, and we can sell those new parts for two times over the price you paid, according to the invoice you asked the store to send to me.   All I have to do is contact the freight company before the ship arrives and they’ll reroute the shipment to a new buyer – I pay ‘em a small price, of course, but I’ll still come out ahead.”

 

A vein throbs in your neck.  “ _You’ll_ come out ahead?  I bought everything in that shipment myself.  I paid for those supplies to help you at the farm, no other reason!”  You hold the communicator away from your face and take deep breaths, trying to calm down.  Hikaru sees you and disentangles himself from a crowd of admirers.

 

“Don’t be so selfish.  Haven’t you got steady work, food, a bunk on that ship?  We’re using the money for things we need to replace, like the vid screen for the games the kids and their friends use, and another new vid screen for my bedroom, and some hair vitamins – that satisfy you?”

 

 “What about the bathroom remodel?” you groan.

 

“It’s halfway done, but if I sell those parts I can have that full-immersion tub I wanted.”

 

“Sis, you know that limited water supplies on the colony make that tub a bad choice.  Upgrade the showers and collection tanks instead, like I asked you all to do in the _first_ place when I sent the remodeling funds.”  Your shoulders slump as Hikaru approaches, pausing as people stop him on the way to greet him.  

 

“Hey, you don’t have to live here, and you only see our farm during visits.  I can take care of our farm perfectly well, thank you!”

 

“Why don’t you do it without my help, then?” Now Hikaru’s there, hesitating as he hears your voice turn harsh with anger.  “Sis, please forgive me.  I don’t mean to speak to you like that.  Wait, please -” Making eye contact with Hikaru, you whisper, “I’m sorry, just having a talk with my sister. Not an emergency.  Won’t be long.”

 

“Oh.  Okay.”  He raises his eyebrows, and mouths the word, “ _Party_?”

 

“Yes!  I think I need it now more than earlier.  I’ll finish this call, and walk there with you, uh, with the group?”

 

His voice drops low.  “Want me to wait for you, babe?”

 

“ _That’s_ him?” your sister’s voice interrupts; you forgot to mute the communicator’s audio and video functions.  “Sulu’s even finer looking than I thought!  Listen, Longlegs.  If things don’t work out with you and him, I’d be glad to –“  your thumb hits a button and ends the call. 

 

“Oh, mercy,” you groan.  Hikaru’s stunned expression gives way to laughter, and soon you’re laughing with him. 

 

“So, _Longlegs_ , can I meet your family some time?” he chuckles.

 

“Sure, if I don’t disown ‘em first.”  The two of you join the noisy crowd of crewmates walking along a long colonnade towards the party area. 

 

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs.   Under cover of the crowd his fingers catch and caress yours, drawing a smile from you. 

 

“Common sense gone for a walk at my sister’s house, and can’t find its way back...maybe we can discuss it later?  I don’t want to ruin the party mood.”

 

“Understandable. But you really _can_ talk to me about it if you want to later.”

 

Slowing down, you look at Hikaru as he walks beside you.  “You really mean that, don’t you?”

 

The group moves into a pool of darkness between street lights, and Hikaru clasps your hand completely before letting it go.  “Yeah.”

 

Just like that, you’re smiling again. 

_…_

  ** _At the_** **Enterprise _crew party_**

_Suggested music: Los Mirlos,”Sonido Amazónico”; “Ariwacumbé” by Frente Cumbiero with the Mad Professor; Wganda Kenya, "Afromani Caribe";  Count Basie and his Orchestra, “Shiny Stockings” - Spock and Uhura's dance_

Lanterns mounted on tall poles and the reflected light from three moons shed light over a broad patio overlooking the sea.  Your convivial mood from the dinner spills over into the party; you talk, dance, and express happy birthday wishes to a crewmate. 

 

Ever so casually, Hikaru makes the rounds of conversation with crewmates, claims two chairs a little distance from the dance floor, and looks at you.  Soon you're seated beside him, holding a weak mixed drink you've collected along the way.  One small drink, is harmless, you rationalize.  Indulging in the delights of the party, no one will notice your attentions to Sulu, and you don't want the buzz of sociability to fade just yet.  Hikaru sips something clear with a slice of lime. 

 

Relaxed and cheerful, you chat with him and other people before you both join the dancing for steps done in long rows without a partner.  During a break, you pick up Hikaru's glass up by mistake and sip from it: water.

 

“Sorry.  I thought that was mine.”

 

One corner of his mouth quirks up as Hikaru murmurs, “Considering how much oral contact we’ve already had with each other, I’m not too worried about you drinking from my glass.”

 

Your laughter makes people nearby smile without knowing the reason for it.  “Rascal,” you whisper as heat rushes over your face.   As though compelled you glance down at his crotch.  Of course Hikaru’s too observant to miss it, and he grins wickedly.

 

“No strong stuff for you?” you ask, returning Hikaru’s water to him.

 

“I don’t drink often.  I prefer to be aware of my surroundings.”  He picks up your mojito and hands it to you.  Suddenly you don’t want it anymore, don’t want your own senses dulled by even a little alcohol. 

 

“At the club, when you flirted with me, were you…”

 

“Sober.  I drank water all night.”  He looks directly at you, his expression unreadable. “You weren’t a whim.” 

 

“Oh.”  You watch each other.  Sulu’s a fighter; what did you expect? He observes opponents, formulates plans, assesses vulnerabilities and uses tactical advantage.  He probably figured out how much you wanted him, found your weaknesses and took you down.  What’s Hikaru’s weakness? His honesty, his sensuality?  It makes no sense to think this way because you don't ever want to hurt him.  Instead you crave more of him: physical pleasure, talk, and more of this cozy, easy new feeling between you.

 

The irresistible opening notes of a _chicha_ song begin.   Freed by the distraction, you almost float up onto your feet to dance, your hips rocking in a subtle up-and-down pattern.  Hikaru watches your hips; then his gaze moves up your body to your eyes and he gives you a slow, lazy smile.  

 

Mindful of your façade of discretion, when Hikaru rises to his feet he doesn’t face you. Instead he dances beside you, your hips and legs moving together.  Somebody cheers, “ _Oyé_ , Hikaru!” and then, a beat behind, your own name.  Secondary status for you again. 

 

Hikaru gently bumps you with his hip as though by accident. At least you matter to _him_ for two more days.

 

The warm night air fills with laughter, talk and music.  Despite his serious demeanor, Spock dances well with Lieutenant Uhura, to the surprise of many.  He and Nyota remain in a modest partner position even during an old romantic song, but their physical ease with one another shows what they do not tell. 

 

Believing that your crewmates are distracted, Hikaru strokes the small of your back and your eyelids flutter shut as you relish his touch. When you open your eyes you see Lieutenant Nyota Uhura turning below Commander Spock’s arm in a slow, graceful spin.  She spots you and Hikaru.  Her expression barely changes, but you hold your breath.  

 

The Communications Officer has always been kind to you, but she’s a friend of Captain Kirk.  As the _Enterprise_ helmsman, Sulu is an integral part of Jim Kirk's team, expected to avoid distraction, uphold standards and fully support the mission both on and off duty.  Although Jim Kirk's off-duty reputation for sleeping around precedes him on several Federation planets, his behavior aboard the _Enterprise_ is correct: he isn't known to sleep with actively serving crew, and he has zero tolerance for coercion, abuse, or harassment among personnel.  If Captain Kirk disapproves of your actions, will the space station job transfer you applied for be denied – or will you be sent someplace you didn’t want to go?

 

Completing another spin, Nyota faces you again.  Her dark eyes meet yours.  She winks.  You manage a nervous smile in response before Spock pulls her back into the dance, their hips rocking gently in time with ajazz tune.  

 

Nobody other than Nyota appears to have seen you. Captain Jim Kirk’s in the center of the patio with a statuesque local Federation official, exercising dance floor diplomacy with a seductive smile. 

 

“I noticed you laughing at the dinner.” Hikaru’s voice interrupts your anxious brooding.

 

“Yeah, I was too loud for that situation, wasn't I? Bad manners.”

 

“No –other people were louder.  The official next to me kept talking about the results of some wind tunnel test, even though I attempted to change the subject at least _four_ times. _That_ 's bad manners.”  Hikaru rolls his eyes, then smiles at you.  “Seeing you so happy is unusual. It's nice.”

 

“What do you mean, I don't laugh?  And I _am_ happy, or content, or pleased, depending upon what's happening.”

 

“Oh, I've seen you laugh before, just not...so openly, I guess.”  Hikaru leans a little closer.  “ _Are_ you happy?  Less than five full years into mission life, and already I feel like --”

 

“Sulu!”  a jovial voice booms, and his attention is consumed by a group of higher-ranking officers.  Frustrated, you walk away, pretending not to notice Hikaru frowning as he watches you leave.  If only he'd say a firm _Not now, please,_ when people swarm over him that way, try harder to include you, or simply tell people that he needs to finish talking to you first.

 

Would a stronger drink help?  Probably not.  You move to a cooler part of the patio, drinking like Hikaru:  cool water with lime.  The things that are happening to you during this affair are blissfully disorienting.  You want to feel everything, even your moments of anger, annoyance, shyness and fear.  

 

An enormous potted plant with luxuriantly spreading leaves obscures Nyota Uhura, stretched out on a lounge chair.  Self-pity is distracting; you don’t see her shapely brown legs until you almost trip over them.

 

“Sorry, Ms.  Uhura –“

 

“Please call me Nyota, we’re off duty.  Would you like to sit down?”  She moves a light, open knit shawl from the back of the chair next to her and pats the seat in an informal, friendly gesture. 

 

“Thank you, I would.” 

 

* * *

 

Next chapter:  “Everything's fine today, that is our illusion.”  -- Voltaire

 Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.  As an experiment (for my writing skills, which I’m developing), the identity of the protagonist is ambiguous.

 


	12. Between Shadow and Light

**It's Not the Liquor Talking – Chapter 12: Between Shadow and Light**

A Hikaru Sulu/OC STXI fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek (though there have been moments when I wondered if Star Trek owned _me_ ); all other written and conceptual content is mine. As an experiment, I've made some aspects of the identity of the OC ambiguous. The OC does have a first name, which is introduced in this chapter; it rhymes with “time”.  
…

“Real things in the darkness seem no realer than dreams.”

― Murasaki Shikibu, _The Tale of Genji_

  
  


_Suggested music for this chapter: Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti, “Baby”; Vampire Weekend, “Everlasting Arms”_

* * *

The secluded area on the broad patio where Nyota Uhura invtes you to join her is dimly lit by a few lanterns. It's unlikely that anyone will overhear the two of you over the music and party chatter.

 

Nyota tilts her head towards the pitcher on the table next to her. “It’s water, with citrus fruit and sweeteners; good stuff. Would you like some?”

 

“Um, yes, thanks.” You reach for the pitcher's handle, but Nyota's slim fingers get there first and pour a glass for you. The small, hospitable gesture makes you think of both the welcoming African household she grew up in (you've heard the Uhura family embrace Spock as their son-in-law and consider a few other Starfleet members to be part of their extended family) and the good-hearted farm folk you knew back home. They offered cool water and a shoulder to lean on when the broad fields and vast sky became oddly confining to your younger self.

 

The innocuous discussion of touring the city and yet another diplomatic reception tomorrow is meant to put you at ease. Finally you can’t bear it any longer.

 

“Nyota…in all the time I’ve known you, you've always been professional and considerate. I'd never ask you to violate Starfleet rules, but if you _must_ report anything about me and Hikaru, uh, Mr. Sulu –“

 

“Pardon me for interrupting, but slow down. Exactly what is it that you think I’m reporting?”

 

“You saw…he touched my back –“

 

“Yes. I’ve also seen Dr. McCoy pat people on the shoulder. Once Scotty threw a sandwich at Chekov during an argument about propulsion. Chekov ducked, then threw the sandwich right back. Scotty apologized with a handshake and they get along quite well now.” Her earrings sway as Nyota leans closer, looking concerned. “Did I misunderstand your response to Hikaru? Do you _not_ want him to touch you? We've been friends for years, and I've never known him to force his attentions on someone. Has he hurt you or behaved strangely?”

 

“No, he hasn’t hurt me in any way, and his behavior’s normal.”

 

“If you’re being coerced or harmed, I _will_ report _that_. Otherwise, why should I discuss your personal life with anyone?”

 

“Thank you, Nyota. It's all consensual. Hikaru flirted with me, and I flirted back. He gave me a chance to walk away. I chose not to, and I don’t regret it. Sorry, I know you’re a communications specialist, not a doctor, but…at last I can admit this to someone. Last night things sort of boiled over, and now I’m staying with Hikaru in his suite and hoping nobody notices. Please don’t mention it to anyone unless it's necessary. It’s just an affair, with too much emotion and too little common sense.”

 

“Don’t dismiss emotions so easily,” Nyota says. “Both you and Hikaru are adults. What you do is private, but I won’t lie for either one of you – understand? You’re right, I’m not a doctor, but I'll say this: be kind to each other. Be happy. Our lives are difficult enough sometimes.”

 

“I appreciate your discretion. Maybe this would be easier if it weren't a secret.”

 

Nyota bites her lip. “No offense, but neither of you seems particularly adept at hiding it.”

 

“Really?” Your stomach lurches, then burns a little.

 

“Today’s softball game: so much tension! I watched and thought, _That's either a feud or flirtation_.”

 

Heat rushes to your face, and you sip water. “Galaxies and heavens...I thought I was being subtle!”

 

“Not all communications involve spoken language. Let’s just say that I learned the hard way about hiding affection and attraction.”

 

Movement beyond the reach of the lantern light makes you look up sharply, and Nyota swings her feet down to the patio's flat stones, ready for action. Starfleet crew are seldom truly relaxed. Then you recognize the light gray fabric of Hikaru's suit. You exchange a look with Nyota. She speaks first, as though trying to dispel the awkwardness.

 

“Hi, Hikaru. I was just talking with Cyme about how the two of you got together during this planetside visit, and about keeping certain things private.” Nyota says your given name in a friendly tone, as though trying to assure him that all is well.

 

There's a long silence, and Hikaru's eyes widen. Upon seeing your encouraging smile, the tension leaves his shoulders. “Yeah. It's true, and I'm glad,” he says. “The only reason nobody else knows is because Longlegs here has some concerns about other crewmates' perceptions.” Hikaru pauses awkwardly beside a chair, glancing between you and Nyota. You look up and extend your hand.

 

“Everything's fine. You know how I feel about gossip,” Nyota says. Something distracts her; she looks pensive for a mere second, then returns her attention to the two of you. “Please, sit with us.”

 

He does, entwining his fingers with yours. “All right, Uhura. When did you figure it out? I know Cyme didn't tell you,” Hikaru says with a resigned smile.

 

“Oh, around 14:00 hours on the softball diamond today. You two are nice together. I'll leave it there. Cyme, is 'Longlegs' your nickname?”

 

“Hikaru overheard me talking to my sister,” you explain to Nyota. “In my hometown they called me 'Longlegs'. Among the people of that farm colony, someone my size is considered tall. In Starfleet I'm average.”

 

“Not so average,” Hikaru says, stroking his thumb across the back of your hand. The way he looks at you makes you feel safe, as though your desire and affection for him held no worrying consequences.

 

Commander Spock moves almost silently out of the darkness, startling you again; you drop Hikaru's hand. Nyota is calm, as though she already knew of his approach. His draped Vulcan tunic makes him only slightly less intimidating than he appears when wearing his Starfleet science blues, but he greets you and Hikaru easily and informally. He sits beside Nyota and their fingers lift and unfurl simultaneously, two fingers on each hand pressing together. Small lines crinkle at the edges of Spock's eyes as he regards her with a small but genuine smile. Nyota's expression is equally tender.

 

Years ago you read about Vulcan bonding at an exhibition of archival materials at the Academy library. Although interesting, the concept seemed profoundly inaccessible – but so did the idea of a mutually caring human relationship for yourself. Perhaps it's just the combined effect of lanterns, moonlight, and being openly affectionate with Hikaru, but in the space of a few seconds, the couple's actions make both Vulcan and human bonding seem comprehensible. Nyota learned about you and Hikaru by watching; who watches _you_ and learns, and how will they judge you?

 

It's difficult not to abruptly sit up straight when Spock turns to you and speaks. “May I compliment you on your remarkable athletic performance during today's game? Although I have read rule books for both fast-pitch and slow-pitch softball, I rarely have opportunities to be present at either version of the game.”

 

“Th-thank you very much, Mr. Spock. I admit to being somewhat out of practice, but I tried my best. I had a worthy opponent,” you add, glancing at Hikaru.

 

Spock's lack of ease with human chitchat surfaces; you realize that he does not wish to appear unkind, but his honesty makes some of his words seem blunt. “Forgive me, Mr. Sulu; I did not mean to exclude you or to imply that your performance was in any way lacking. To the contrary, your return of the ball from the outfield involved a noteworthy command of power and speed, and you were an excellent batter when matched against a different pitcher.”

 

Hikaru must be accustomed to Spock's awkward earnestness, because he only chuckles and shrugs. “No harm done. Thank you, Spock. I'm not mad at Longlegs for striking me out.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“’Longlegs’ is Cyme’s hometown nickname, Spock,” Hikaru explains.

 

“Understood.” Spock's eyes dart between the two of you, briefly connect with Nyota's and you almost hear something click as he makes the connection. _Together._

 

Now you can't even fool Vulcans? You’re in more trouble than you thought. However, Spock's facial expression betrays no disapproval. Perhaps he considers affairs normal among humans; after all, he's friends with Jim Kirk. But will Spock accidentally tell the Captain? Perhaps you're safe for now. Although you can't explain it, something about his interaction with Nyota indicates that Spock knows the information is private, although you didn't hear her tell him of your wish for discretion.

 

Spock asks you how you learned to play, and you tell him a little bit about growing up on the farm colony. Hikaru idly caresses your hand, then your forearm, then your shoulder while he listens. It’s odd, but not at all unpleasant, to have him touch you in front of others. All of you end up talking about plants, farms and various relatives or ancestors with agrarian connections. Spock has less input on that last topic as most of his Vulcan ancestors seem to have been spared the experience of tilling the soil, but he expresses respectful admiration for the knowledge and endurance of farming folk.

 

It's a pleasant interval. Eventually your ankle feels a little stiff, and you stand up to stretch it. Hikaru suggests a stroll along the beach. Spock and Nyota decline, but thank you for spending time with them.

 

“I wonder if Spock and Nyota ever get lonely as a couple,” you say as you descend a paved slope leading to the shore, arm in arm with Hikaru. “Both of 'em are a bit intense, but likeable. I enjoyed talking with them.”

 

“Nyota's an optimist, but she’s mentioned not being accepted as a couple in certain places and by certain people. Fortunately they've got real friends, people who take time to understand.” Hikaru looks at you, part of his face in shadow, part lit by moonlight. “Do you worry about that happening with us?”

 

“Not really. My reasons for privacy are different. I'm sorry that they've been treated badly. My family experienced violence and oppression during the pre-Federation years. I can deal with bias when I have to, but it doesn’t get easier; it leaves scars. I learned not to inflict any of that on others – _especially_ as someone who wanted to join Starfleet someday.”

 

“Ah, treasure. I wish things had been different for you.” Hikaru's lips brush your temple.

 

Sounds of a feminine giggle and the soft clink of bracelets float down to the beach, and you turn around to see that all but one of the small lanterns on the patio have been extinguished. Spock's voice says something low in Vulcan -- “ _tal-kam” –_ followed by an impassioned murmur from Nyota. Understanding the sense if not the literal meaning, you whip your head back around and walk faster. “Let's give 'em a little distance and some privacy,” you say.

 

Hikaru smiles. “That didn't go as badly as you expected, did it? Having somebody know about us.”

 

“I'm just glad it was them, and not somebody less discreet.”

 

Both of you slow down to maintain steady footing on the layer of coarse sea grass, stones, and bits of driftwood covering the sand on this part of the beach.

 

“Is there trouble with your sister's farm? Drought, blight, low yields?” Pausing next to a weathered log, Hikaru looks out at the water. His facial expression is one you remember from the Academy; he holds his lower lip a certain way when he's thinking about solving a problem.

 

“Happily, no. Crops did well this year and we – well, she, since I'm not there – turned a sufficient profit along with some surplus. That went to the emergency food program for those who didn't have such a good season. We always donate to the food program no matter what. It helped us in hard times.”

 

Hikaru faces you. “So she covered costs and had enough left over to help others. Your sister doesn't exactly need your funds, does she? Aside from gifts, or loans you agreed on, and things like that.”

 

Calculating last year's and this year's returns in your head, you admit, “You're right. It's not essential, but my sister and her husband like for their kids to have things we didn't have, growing up before the Federation came to help. He works in town part time and helps her run the farm. Sometimes they wait too long to repair equipment, or to find the right parts and supplies for essentials like the wind turbine system. When they tell me there's a problem, I usually go ahead and buy the stuff for them.” Sighing, you kick at the sand. “She made me angry today – that's what you overheard on the call. It's frustrating! You helped me choose the most durable parts, I paid the freight, and now Sis wants to sell it all sight unseen and use the proceeds to buy new vid screens and hair vitamins.”

 

Hikaru tilts his head quizzically. “What you're really saying is that they don't _need_ you to support them, and you don't _want_ to anymore, because they'll spend it on nonessentials.”

 

Embarrassed, you shrug.

 

“Come on, Longlegs. If you stopped buying for them tomorrow, what would happen? Fan blades would break, turbine parts would wear down and they'd have to fix or replace it themselves. And you know something?” He stops walking and clutches your shoulders. “They just might manage _without_ you.”

 

“I don't want to be selfish! Everyone needs a vidscreen for information access...just maybe not in every room of the house like Sis wants.”

 

Hikaru makes a disgusted sound and lets you go. “How about what _you_ want, Cyme?”

 

“What do I want for myself? Same as what many people want: life's good things that money can't buy.” You risk a look at him, but Hikaru's frowning at the sea.

 

“Listen, I understand family responsibilities, and feeling that you have to carry responsibilities no one even _asked_ you to take on,” he says. “You're the oldest child, right?”

 

“Yes, so I have to be the caretaker, in a way. My parents would have lived longer with better food, less fear, and less abuse by the SecForces. Here's the family I have left: my brother, a mechanic on Alpha Ceti-22 station; my other sister, a settlement house worker on Benedicte-12; Sis, holding down the farm with her family; and four cousins scattered around the colony. They're all I have now, maybe all I will _ever_ have. How can I deny them a little fun? Don't get me wrong, I save for my own future too but if I can send my cousin a useless sparkly necklace because it makes her feel special, well, I don't mind doing it.”

 

Sighing, Hikaru clasps your hand. “Babe, I'm not telling you that you shouldn't do those things. I'm just saying: think about helping your family in a different way. Tell your little Sis to get serious about maintaining the farm equipment. She'll become more independent and gain a sense of accomplishment. Share your knowledge about maintaining the farm, but ask her to buy her vid screens and hair vitamins and shit by _herself_. You can't run that farm from aboard the _Enterprise_. You've got your own life. If you really wanted to run the farm yourself, wouldn't you just quit Starfleet and do it?”

 

Astonished by his passionate speech on your behalf, you clasp his arm. “How did you know? I think about those same things all the time and I can never say them when she calls. I really want to tell Sis to spend less, repair things, dispose less, and I can't do it. She contacts me and gives me that sad look and I see pictures of the kids and I think I'll never have my own l--” You sigh heavily and sit down on the smooth tree trunk. “Forget it. Thank you, Hikaru.”

 

He sits down and puts an arm around your shoulders. “You asked how I know? I'm not the oldest child in the family, but I was probably the strongest personality. The most extroverted, and sometimes the most disobedient. I wasn't a complete rebel, but I did things that I still regret. Because of those mistakes I tried harder to please my parents and the whole world. I couldn't be both the good kid and the cool kid even though I tried.”

 

“But that's impossible. Must have been tough for you.”

 

“Oh, I learned that it couldn't work. You can't be perfect for all people: the high achiever, the toughest fighter, the most responsible. Ultimately my family _were_ pleased with me, but I couldn't see it. Maybe that's what's happening with you: you still think you have to do the most for everybody.”

 

He feels like pure comfort, warm and solid as you lean into him. “Come to think of it...my other relatives do seem more inclined to tell me that they're happy with me the way I am, and they don’t ask me to solve their problems. Don't get me wrong – Sis can be very loving and considerate, but somehow we got into this messy situation and it's not good for either of us.” You look into his dark eyes, gleaming in the moonlight. “You really are a good man, Hikaru. Not just an excellent crewmate.”

 

“And...?” he asks teasingly.

 

“...a great dancer who always hits the beat. A fearless warrior. Decent softball player.”

 

Laughing, he gets off the log and stands between your legs, his hands on your thighs. “Forget something?”

 

“Oh, right!” The kiss you give him is light, but you finish off with a touch of your tongue to his. “Ah, a fine kisser too. Leads to your other skill...so good that I can hardly find the words for it. But if I told everyone what a wonderful lover you are, I might have to share and I am protective of my passions, as you well know.”

 

“Hmm. I'll take that for now.” He touches his forehead to yours. “It's more than just skill, treasure.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“It's different with you.” Hikaru fidgets, then leans forward and touches his lips to yours, and there's no talking for a while.

 

“Do you like the way I kiss you?” he whispers, when both of you pause to breathe.

 

“Always. I like the way you work up to the deep ones, like you're watching to see if I like it before you keep going.”

 

“Mmm.” He caresses the side of your face.

 

“When you kiss me, Hikaru, I feel...like I'm aloft and on solid ground all at the same time.”

 

“Aloft. How fitting, treasure. I think that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me.” In light of the rising moons, you can clearly see his expression; he looks quite happy. He takes a seat next to you again. For a while you hold each other, watching the stars and the sea.

 

“The wind’s picking up. Let’s go get warm. How’s your ankle?” Hikaru asks.

 

“A tiny bit sore. It's fine as long as I walk slowly.”

 

“We’re taking a cab back to the hotel,” he says firmly.

 

“Don’t use your travel budget on me. I can walk back.”

 

“Cyme, do you want to spend your first day back aboard ship visiting Sickbay? _Cab_. Then once I get you back to the hotel, cold therapy pack on that ankle, immediately. We can get one from the concierge system.”

 

“And when did you join Starfleet Medical, you handsome tyrant?”

 

“Same day you joined the Backtalk Division. Don't make me pull rank on you, babe.”

 

Hikaru jumps aside as you pretend to punch him in the ribs and say, “I prefer the term ‘Frugal Division’, big shot. Fine, we take cabs.”

 

“Correction: _a_ cab. We return t _ogether_ , please. If our crewmates see us in the cab together I'll just tell 'em it's 'cause you're cheap.” His lips brush your forehead, banishing your desire to argue.

 

…

_**At the hotel** _

 

With your crewmates at the party, there's no reason to return to the suite in separate lifts. Hikaru playfully leans against you in the lift, and you lean back, your angled bodies supporting each other.

 

“Don't move away too quickly, or else one of us may fall,” he says with a smile.

 

Which one of you will fall first, and hardest?

 

Neither of you feels ready to fall asleep yet so you put on bathrobes and settle down on the oversized couch in the suite’s entertainment room, stretched out with your bodies touching. Hikaru insists upon putting a cold wrap on your ankle and ordering two big dishes of sorbet: “Gotta make _sure_ that youfeel better, babe.” After the combined sweetness of the sorbet and Hikaru's attention lulls you into a relaxed state, you cuddle with him as he scans the entertainment options available through the hotel's viewing system.

 

“What do you normally wear to bed?” he asks idly as the computer's menu passes the fourth category of vids and the 60th channel listing.

 

“Soft stuff. A big T-shirt, shorts. I always wear something in case there's an emergency. What do you sleep in?”

 

“Same things, for the same reasons.” He strokes your thigh and turns around to give you a sly look. “Maybe we need to get back to our routines and wear clothes to bed.”

 

“Not a minute earlier than I have to – no pajamas yet! I like being naked with you.”

 

“Good, 'cause I _really_ like being naked with you too. ” Hikaru stifles a yawn. “Sorry, but I think I need to take things easy tonight, babe. I’m good for cuddling and not much more.”

 

“Well, it _has_ been a very long day. Aww, is Sulu the Sex God feeling tired?”

 

Hikaru beams. “Sex God? Really? I like hearing that from you, the one who makes me feel hot and out of control before you even take your clothes off.”

 

“Who, me? Listen, handsome. Add ‘Sex God’ to your list of degrees, certifications and titles. If anybody wants to challenge it, I’ll testify on your behalf. ‘Yes, Mighty Sulu the knee-trembler made me forget what planet I was on and my own name -- twice, at least’.”

 

He laughs, blushing and pleased. “Tough standards to live up to, but I won’t argue. Wanna watch this vid? Historical drama.”

 

Sprawled across the deep, soft cushions, you watch seventy minutes of something with just enough intellectual engagement, humor and action to keep both of you entertained. One action scene is unexpectedly violent, and you feel Hikaru's body flinch. However, he remains silent about what he’s just seen, so you just give his shoulder a little squeeze and let the story play on.

 

…

_**In bed** _

 

Back on the farm colony, you shared a bed with siblings for a few years. Warm in winter, awful in summer. Kids on your planet learned early not to wet the bed. Adults scolded them, explaining that the additional water used to launder sheets and blankets could be used instead for cooking or gardens. What child wants to feel responsible for a family's suffering? Fortunately you were a strong, patient eleven-year-old. You carried tools, counted joining pegs, and helped your uncle build a new bed of your very own, where you slept in luxurious solitude. After you were assigned to the _Enterprise_ there were nights when you missed hearing someone breathing beside you, connecting you to other life in the vast reach of space.

 

Warmth and companionship aren’t the only things you remember about sharing a bed. You're familiar with the thrashing limbs and choked sobs of nightmares. Hearing Hikaru cry out in his sleep makes your chest constrict with painful empathy. You want to cast out whatever it is that wounded his mind and heart enough to cloud his dreams with fear.

 

Whatever Hikaru sees is scary enough to make him to fight back, and you move away. He’s strong enough to knock you unconscious with a misplaced punch. Carefully, you shield yourself with a pillow before attempting to awaken him using gentle shakes and touches.

 

“Please, Hikaru, wake up. It's not real, sweet one. You're safe, honey.” In the darkness you aren’t careful about what you say; you just want him to stop hurting.

 

His body tenses as he draws in a sobbing breath. You cannot reach him.

 

* * *

 

 

Cyme is pronounced “sime”, to rhyme with the English word “time”. It is a botanical term meaning “a broad, flat-topped inflorescence in which the central flower is the first to open”. One example would be elderflower blossoms.

 

As an experiment, I've made some aspects of the identity of the OC ambiguous.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine. Thank you for taking time to read and to review, if you feel moved to do so!

  
  



	13. Things We Don’t Say

**It's Not the Liquor Talking – Chapter 13: Things We Don’t Say**

 

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet (though there have been moments when I wondered if Starfleet owned me); all other written and conceptual content is mine.

 

“Real things in the darkness seem no realer than dreams.”

― Murasaki Shikibu, _The Tale of Genji_

 

_Suggested music for this chapter: Lianne La Havas featuring Willy Mason, “No Room for Doubt”_

* * *

  
 

“Hikaru, it's not real.  Wake up, dear one.  It's safe here.”

 

Exhaling loudly, he mumbles something and strikes the mattress with his fist. You keep up the flow of words while you stroke his shoulder.

 

“Bad things, huh, sweetie?  They’re gone now. Come back, Hikaru.  You're in the hotel with me.  I care about you.  You're safe.”

 

None of your words have any visible effect.  Desperation births an idea.  

 

“Sulu! _All clear_.”

 

Hikaru jerks awake and sits up. 

 

Some consider it foolish and old-fashioned for a Starfleet crewmember to follow the old spiritual beliefs of your colony, but your grandmother taught you that you can help calm a distressed person by altering the atmosphere or energy of a room.  Simple ways to do this: open a door or window, or change the lighting.  You leave the bed and throw back the curtains over the balcony doors, then open one of the doors several centimeters.  The room's computer could have done it all in response to your voice commands but the ancient belief seems to call for physical action.  Moonlight and fresh night air spill in, and the space changes. 

 

Hikaru's chest, slicked with sweat, gleams in the bluish light.  “Oh, God.  Sorry.”

 

“Don't apologize. Is it all right if I get back in bed with you?”

 

“Yeah, but I'm sweating, I should move --”

 

“It'll dry soon.” 

 

Hikaru shivers, and you pull a sheet over him.  “Come here.” He settles into your embrace without protest; it's no hardship to bear his weight. 

 

“I didn't want you to see that.”

 

“Easy now,” you say, kissing his forehead and stroking his back.  “Do you want to tell me what you dreamed?  Will that help it go away?”

 

“No.”

 

“Sure?” Dampness covers your fingertips when you touch his cheek: sweat or tears? “Might help if you talk about it.  I'm willing to listen, and I won't tell anyone.”

 

“ _No_.”

 

“We shouldn't have watched that violent scene before bed.  Did it trigger something?”

 

“Cyme, listen.”  Hikaru sighs so deeply that his entire upper body moves against yours.  “Drop it, please, or else I have to see everything I dreamed again.  I know that you're trying to help, but let’s leave it.”

 

The rawness in his voice saddens you.  “I'm sorry, sweetness, I'll stop asking.”  The moment the endearment leaves your mouth, you realize how careless you've been with your words.  Maybe he won't remember in the morning if you talk about something else.

 

Starfleet Medical provides several different therapies meant to help people manage difficult memories.  Most of them combine long-term behavioral, medical, and technological treatment methods. Obviously Hikaru's chosen not to request any of them.    Perhaps he believes he can learn a lesson from the nightmares, or conquer them through force of will. 

 

“All right.  I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about it.  I don’t know the right things to do, but I just want you to relax and feel better so that you can sleep. Does the moonlight bother you?”

 

“No, I think it helps.  There wasn't enough light where I was trapped --”  he falls silent.

 

 “Please let me help you.   How about if I talk to you until you feel drowsy?”  That always worked for your siblings; Hikaru won't like being compared to a child, but some forms of comfort soothe young and old.

 

“Yes, talk. Please.”  He groans, exhales, and settles his body against yours.  Caressing his back, you keep talking into the darkness.

 

What should you say?  You remember that he enjoyed walking through the park’s garden with you: a benign enough subject, being outdoors. 

 

 “I liked looking at those plants with you earlier.  It sort of reminded me of when I used to take the animals out grazing in the fields.”  Disease later swept through the herd, impoverishing your family, but you won’t mention that now. 

 

“Once I got tall enough and could I yell pretty loud, one of my chores was to go out with the herd.  Always carried a switch but I didn't like to hit 'em with it, so I mostly tapped the ground or shouted.  During the best weather herding was an escape.  Sunshine, tall grass, fruiting plants part of the year.  I used to take along a basket so I could pick fine, juicy purple berries, big across as your thumbnail.”  You pick up his hand and kiss his thumb. 

 

“I liked going out with the herd, especially when I could take a learning padd with me.  Sometimes a new traveling teacher would come to town and share all the books loaded onto their own padd; many  people did kind things like that, trying to make life better for everyone despite the way the SecForces mistreated us.  I read through the national curricula of three different planetary colonies thanks to those teachers.  Of course I usually worked too, I wasn't completely irresponsible.  Sometimes I carried along cord and heavy thread to mend or make fishing nets.”

 

“Fishing?  I thought the place you lived in was landlocked.”

 

“Not entirely.  During some seasons we set up a system of nets along the rivers and creeks; we needed the protein and it was worth the effort.  There were a few summers when it rained so hard that the rivers overflowed and afterward we found small fish in pools of water right out in the fields.  Farm colony life wasn't all bad.  Pretty countryside – sorta like Earth prairie, with water threading through it.  Animals, plants, the sound of rainfall...I remember how the rain barrels smelled.  Droughts came some years, but we knew to be careful with every drop – how to bathe with a mugful of water if we had to.”

 

“Mug baths?  Making nets?  God, you're resourceful.  Next away mission, I’ll demand to be paired up with you.”

 

That opportunity may never arise if you get the space station job, but you don't want to say so.  “Aw, that's stuff anybody can learn.”

 

“Depends on how you apply it.”  He moves and you can feel him observing you.  “Sensible type like you tries to see the best in a situation.”

 

“I could teach you how to build a little rainwater collection station.  Might be handy.”  You continue with your drifting talk.  “So I'd go out to the fields with the herd, and while they grazed I'd power up the padd and read.  It was so peaceful!  Couldn't hear much except the animals chewing, and I hardly felt the heat or cold while I read about explorers traveling through space or sailing strange new oceans.  Sometimes I'd look up, see the animals lying down and realize that rain was coming.  I'd have to power down the padd until I found shelter. The animals balked if you tried to get 'em to walk through a cloudburst.  Do you like walking through rain, Hikaru?”

 

“Nah.  Umbrella,” he mumbles, his lips moving against your skin.  “All of this farm labor sound almost nice…maybe that’s not the right word.  Satisfying.”

 

“Anything's tolerable as long as you're safe doing it.”  You rub the small of his back reassuringly.

 

“Were you safe out in the fields?”

 

“Usually.  Raiders didn't bother with our place much 'cause it was so obvious that we had nothing much to steal and sell...except people.  I carried knives, but the only threat from those dull blades came from the rust, and tetanus won’t work fast enough to protect a herder.  The animals couldn't protect me but I suppose I could have hidden in the middle of the herd.  Come to think of it, maybe that's one reason they stopped sending me out to the fields alone after a certain age.”  You move your head; Hikaru looks alert and interested.  “Sorry, I'm not saying one more word about these grim memories.  You need peaceful sleep.”

 

“I want to know more about your life.”

 

“Some of it isn't good.”

 

“Longlegs...”  His hand glides along your shin, over your knee, and touches your thigh. “My life hasn't been perfect either.  I can handle it.”  

 

 “Do you feel like you can fall asleep again?”

 

“Be with me and I can.”

 

“It's the middle of the night, handsome.  Where would I go? I'm all yours.”

 

Hikaru's lips press soft kisses along your collarbone.

 

“Oh. _Ohhh._  Aren’t you tired?”

 

“Help me make us both tired enough to sleep, babe.”  When his hands move over your bare skin, you feel callouses from where he holds weapons. 

 

“You don't have to do this,” you say, sweeping the sheet and blanket aside.  Cool night air flows over your body , but you’re more aware of the welcome heat of arousal between you.  “You don't owe me anything for trying to help.”

 

“That's not the reason I want you, Cyme,” he murmurs before his mouth closes over your nipple.

 

You touch Hikaru in all of your favorite places, from the strong forearms everyone sees to the private curves and muscled areas of his butt, thighs, and back.  When you bite him behind his knee he gasps, then makes a sound of approval before he turns you over to try the same bite on you.  

 

Something’s different this time. 

 

The combined reflected light of five moons is vivid, but not bright enough for either of you to see each other clearly; you’re too far away from the open balcony door.  Hikaru looks at you anyway and traces the shape of your face with his fingertips, seeing you more closely and completely.  When you were naked with him before, you spaced out a little when the feelings became too intense.  Now you feel every second of his time with you, every small scrape of his body hair against your skin, each breath, each kiss, every awkward and delightful movement.  Both of you pay such close attention to each other that it’s almost frightening. 

 

Hikaru doesn’t penetrate you with anything but his tongue (in your mouth) and finger (somewhere else), but you feel him inside you all the same.  Instead he arouses you with his deep kisses, mouth on your neck and nipples and his hands moving everywhere, stroking, beguiling.  Your own hands and mouth move over him, make him quiver and moan.  This isn't like yesterday afternoon, when you moved together with skill, energetic techniques, and wild guesses put towards the work of stimulating each other.   Now you move slowly, almost intuitively, sharing pleasure.  The top sheet creases and tangles around your feet as your bodies move across the bed, until Hikaru kicks it away and there’s nothing to hold you back. 

 

He watches your face as you cry out and your gaze loses focus, then returns.  Thick, sticky heat spills over your fingers and across his hard, flat belly as you watch his face go through similar changes.  Your smiles mirror each other in giddy, soporific post-orgasmic bliss.  His shaft begins to soften beneath your fingers; his hand closes over yours, squeezes, lets go.

 

“Cyme,” he sighs, leans in for a kiss, and settles back against the pillow.

 

At last Hikaru sleeps.  After covering him with the sheet and closing the balcony door, you go into the bathroom to stand under a hot shower and think. Only two more nights remain.  You ought to control yourself; you've been so reckless that you can only fall in deeper. 

 

Wandering through the silent expanse of the living room, you check your communicator.  

 

... _are very interested in your proposal to transfer from the_ Enterprise _to a position on our station, and would like to schedule a general information-gathering interview with you within the next 24 Standard hours.  Captain James T. Kirk will, of course, be informed --_

 

“Damn.”  You exhale and close your eyes for a moment, then read the timestamp again.  The job message was sent from the space station representatives hours ago, while you were either cuddling or sleeping.  Captain Kirk may already know; there’s little doubt that he checks his messages even while traveling on diplomatic excursions or while on leave, or at least delegates his correspondence to a yeoman who reports forthcoming crew changes to him.  Of course he’ll want to know why you're leaving – _if_ the space station reps think you're an appropriate hire -- and you’ll have to meet with him or Spock.  The Captain may not be amused to learn that you're sleeping with the pilot of his starship.  Commander Spock, for all his sternness, may remain as unconcerned as he was last night. 

 

In a few minutes you can craft a polite, carefully worded reply to the Starfleet officers on the space station explaining that you’ve decided to withdraw your offer for personal reasons, but of course you shouldn’t do that.  Hikaru’s intensity may be an illusion born of your wishful thinking.  Once you’re back aboard he’ll have his pick of others, and you’ll learn what it’s like to serve a five-year mission with somebody who barely remembers the time you spent together. 

 

“Not doing it,” you sigh, and reply with a suggested meeting time for a vid call to the station.  Someone’s probably awake aboard the station right now; you could make contact.  Swapping your bathrobe for decent clothing would take only a few minutes, but your lips still feel a little swollen from heavy kissing; how do they look?  What if Hikaru woke up, and walked in dressed only in the hickeys you've decorated his body with?  You aren’t ready to explain anything until after sunrise. 

 

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper aloud.  “Didn’t allow for possible changes in my own little world.”

 

Suddenly you’re too tired to figure it all out.  Powering off the communicator, you return to the bedroom and curl up in spoon position with Hikaru.  Sleep blots out all your problems for a few hours.

 

…

 

Before dawn, Hikaru awakens again.  His hand gropes in the darkness and lands on your stomach.  As though reassured by finding you beside him he squeezes you there, sighs deeply and falls back to sleep.

 

…

 

When you awaken Hikaru is gone.  Although you'd never admit it to him, for one moment you panic. Then you see that his clothes and personal items are still in the room. 

 

Your padd sits on the dresser.  Its screen displays a little drawing -- two pointy-eared mammals kissing, perhaps foxes or dogs? -- and a message from Hikaru saying that he’s gone for a solo run and will be back in about ninety minutes, Standard time.  The whimsical drawing makes you want to simultaneously cry and laugh with delight, and you upload it to your personal file storage.  No matter how soon or how cruelly Hikaru abandons you, the drawing will remain the charming gesture it was intended to be. 

 

You wonder why Hikaru felt the need to include ‘solo’ before run, as though you might chase him down and interrupt his solitude.  Being a somewhat mature adult, you understand the importance of having time to yourself; surely he knows you understand that. 

 

A combination of stretches, weight lifting, and resistance routines in the hotel gym makes more sense than going for a run.  There’s a risk of crossing paths with Hikaru and you want to spare your ankle. 

 

Some _Enterprise_ crewmates greet you in the gym.  They exchange friendly banter about last night’s party and remind you that a group plans to visit the beach during the hottest part of the day.  All of this leisure activity is disorienting; you murmur something about planning to see to some work matters and make a vid call, which is not a lie; you’re calling the space station reps and you need to resolve the conflict with your sister.  Your crewmates jokingly scold you for not relaxing before all of them leave except one – surnamed Groen, or is it Green?

 

“Do it later, Cyme.  How often do we get cushy diplomatic visitation leave like this?  Not too damned often.  Get yourself some fun, and maybe some ass while you’re here.  Sorry, did I embarrass you?  I keep forgetting how repressive things are on your colony.”

 

“It wasn’t the _people_ who were repressed,” you say a bit defensively.  “It was the laws of the occupying forces who pushed us down and stereotyped farm colony people as ignorant, irresponsible, and loose – at the same time they took advantage of us physically.  If we seem straitlaced it’s just a survival tactic. We had to counter all of the ugly things people said and did.”

 

Groen (Green?) looks sympathetic.  “Huh.  Sorry.  That must make it really tough to just enjoy life or just be yourself.”

 

“People my generation and older have some trouble with that, yeah.  Everyone copes in their own way. Thanks to the Federation, it’s better now.  Safer and happier.”

 

“I’d like to know more about you.  Are you busy tonight after that government reception?  Wanna go for a drink?”

 

Surprised, you stammer, “Uh, thanks, but...I kind of committed to something for the next couple of nights.  Thank you for asking, though.”

 

“So you _did_ find someone to keep you busy here, huh?” He wiggles both eyebrows, and you laugh awkwardly.  “Maybe we can catch up when we’re back aboard.”

 

If the palms of your hands sweat any more, you’ll drop the weight you’re holding.  “Hmm,” you say noncommittally. 

 

“All right, Cyme.  Did I ever tell you’ve got the most _amazing_ legs?”  With a final seductive smile (which looks more to you like a threat to bite), the flirt leaves you in peace and leaves the gym. 

 

 _Galaxies and Heavens!_   You know that some Starfleet people abandon their inhibitions while off duty, but that rarely involves you.  Cross-cultural interactions still confuse you sometimes, even after years on Earth and time spent among humanoids from different planets.  Groen/Green has apparently decided that you are sexually active with someone else even though you avoided directly answering the question.  Therefore you are up for grabs. 

 

Such an attitude would make little sense among people of your farm colony.  SecForces were not known for respecting the physical autonomy of the people they oppressed, and they were rarely, if ever, punished for abusing others.  Once the SecForces were removed from the colony, the individual being’s right to physical and sexual safety was restored, celebrated, and protected – both as an idea and in law.  Polite flirtation was acceptable, but most people didn’t persist if the object of interest chose not to reciprocate.  Your behavior with Hikaru, although brazen, fit into the type of flirtation you understood.  He indicated interest, you responded with a clear indication of your own interest in him, and that cleared the way for both of you to proceed. 

 

It’s too bad that you have no roadmap to guide you through everything that comes afterward.

 

…

 

**_In the hotel suite_ **

 

 The suite's quiet when you return.

 

“Sweet-- uh, Hikaru?”

 

No response.  Disappointing, but least he wasn't there to hear you slip and call him something more serious than _handsome_. 

 

Your stomach growls, and you go to the kitchen, clean your hands, and browse the replicator menu.  If you're going to have breakfast alone you can eat simply and quickly.  Then you can use the extra time to call your sister back, apologize for hanging up on her, and resolve the disagreement about her plan to sell the supplies you bought.  Beginning a day with a confrontation is a terrible idea, but there's no way to avoid it.  Maybe Sis will change her mind and agree that upgrading and repairing the power system is best. 

 

As you finish a fast sonic shower, Hikaru returns, calling out your name cheerfully.  Half dressed, you come into the main room to greet him – too eager!  But then you lean into his kiss, a small, seemingly affectionate connection, and decide that it doesn't matter.  

 

Hikaru rests his hand on your lower back.  “Did you have a good workout, Longlegs?” 

 

“Yes, and now I'm hungry.  Let's eat.  Are you feeling well?”  Faint shadows are visible below his eyes.  “I hoped that you would sleep in this morning.”

 

“It's hard to break my routine.  Have you left your schedule open today? ”

 

“Most of it; I have to make a couple of vid calls in the afternoon.  I want to suggest a nap for _your_ schedule.”

 

“Longlegs, I’ll take a nap if you take it _with_ me.”  One strong hand slides under your shirt.  Then your stomach growls; Hikaru pats it and lets go of you.  “Hmm, I’m gonna shower and change and then we'd better eat.  Replicator okay?  It’s faster.”

 

“Sure.  Where are we going after breakfast?”

 

“It's a surprise.”  Hikaru’s grin is so appealing that you smile, too.  Then he looks serious. “Tell me honestly: how do you feel about hoverbikes?  I know that you had bad experiences with SecForce driving them and harassing you, but what about _you_ driving or riding them?”

 

“Now I just think of them as vehicles.  I learned how to drive a hoverbike while I was at Starfleet Academy but that was a long time ago.  I'm good on wheeled bikes, so I can balance well.  I'm not sure I want to drive a hoverbike in a crowded tourist area like this one, though.  Why?  Are we going biking today?”

 

“Not exactly.  A hoverbike is involved but that's not the whole point.”  Hikaru's smiling, delighted with his secret. 

 

“Ooh, handsome, this must be _good_.  You're not going to tell me, are you?”

 

“Cover up those fine legs and let’s get moving.”

 

...

 

It’s the first time that you and Hikaru have eaten a private breakfast together, so you make a bit of a fuss, insisting upon setting out the small meal (Hikaru recommends that you both eat sparingly, hinting that there is food at your destination)  and brewing the tea by yourself.  Hikaru seems to understand that you want to return his kindness, and he allows you to take the lead.  Only when he sees the two little cups on the table in front of you does he raise a question.

 

 “Hm. You drink  _both_ tea and coffee in the morning?”

 

“Sometimes we had little of either back home.  Occasionally I indulge myself when I travel.  Caffeine helps me in the mornings, and I’m not too particular about where it comes from.” 

 

The hotel's replicator is capable of delivering items needed for a basic breakfast and surprisingly drinkable coffee – you can't wait to tell your crewmate Charlene Masters when you return to the _Enterprise_ that you've discovered good coffee away from Earth _._  “Drinking both seems eccentric, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” Hikaru says honestly,  “but not bad. You must tolerate caffeine really well. I’ll remember what you like. Tea and coffee.”

 

Parting your lips to reply, _Why bother? We only have two more mornings together before we return to the ship_ , you change your mind and finish your tea.

 

Later, when Hikaru pulls a slim-cut, black protective jacket over his T-shirt and jeans, he becomes dangerously attractive.  “Mmm.  Seeing you in that jacket reminds me of the town dwellers with bad reputations that I used to ogle back home.  Even though I was supposed to avert my eyes from them, I _did_ look.  Never went out into the tall grass with ‘em or anything.  I'd lie down in tall grass with _you,_ though, no question _._ ”

 

Flattered, he opens a box and hands you a matching jacket to put on.  “I'm glad you want to do more than look at _me_.  I can give you more than a roll in the grass.”  It's an oddly serious response to your lighthearted remark, but before you can question it he adjusts your jacket, pulling straps.  “Better if it fits closely, so it won't catch on anything if we do have an accident.  Not that we will.  Helmets are downstairs.  Ready?”

 

Ostentation isn't Hikaru's style, but even a novice rider like you knows the bike waiting near the half-circle driveway of the hotel is a specialty model.  Painted in subtly gleaming tones of black, deep blue, and gray,  it waits in a docking station.   Both of you greet a wide-eyed, teenaged vehicle attendant who appears awestruck by the bike, Hikaru's generous tip, and even the sight of you in your sleek black jacket.   As the boy hands you your helmet you want to say, _It's just a jacket! Be cautious of appearances_. 

 

Mounting the bike, Hikaru revs its engine and makes a slow circuit of the driveway, the bike emitting a low growl.  Jumbled erotic thoughts about all that power vibrating between his legs -- and your own -- fill your mind.  Suddenly you realize he's waiting for you to climb on behind him.  Hikaru nods to the attendant and fully powers up the hoverbike as heads turn.  When you glance into the rearview mirror, you see the teenaged attendant's mouth hanging open as he watches the hoverbike drive away. 

 

Exercising the same care and responsibility he'd use to pilot the _Enterprise_ , Hikaru drives cautiously through the city before increasing speed out on a suburban road.  Occasionally both of you use the intercom inside the helmets to talk about the sights you pass on the road:  houses, fences made from tall stalks of a local dried grass, things that remind each of you of other places, other adventures.  Away from observers here, you wrap your arms around his waist.  Once, you touch his thigh. 

 

Eventually the road signs, which display information through a combination of images, Standard text, and a local patois, begin to show a tantalizing phrase.  Excited, you tighten your arms around Hikaru’s waist in a quick hug.

 

“Oh, Hikaru… _that’s_  where you’re taking us?”

* * *

 

Thank you for taking time to read and to review, if you feel moved to do so!  As an experiment, I've made some aspects of the identity of the OC ambiguous.  The OC’s given name is pronounced to rhyme with ‘time’ and the ‘Cy’ sound has a soft ‘C’.  "Cyme" is a botanical term meaning “a broad, flat-topped inflorescence in which the central flower is the first to open”. One example would be elderflower blossoms.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine.  


	14. Grow

It's Not the Liquor Talking: A STXI fanfic

Characters: Hikaru Sulu, OC, other Starfleet crew

**Chapter 14: Grow**

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine. As an experiment, I've made some aspects of the identity of the OC ambiguous.

  
  


_I smell sweet savours, and I feel soft things._

Source: _The Taming of the Shrew, by William Shakespeare_. _Induction, Scene 2._

  
  


_Suggested music for this chapter: Hugh Masekela, "Grazing in the Grass"_

* * *

  
  


Colors shift on the screen of a roadside sign, and an animated leaf unfurls below a line of Standard text: _Botanical Gardens - 5 km._

"Hikaru Sulu! Pull over right now so that I can kiss you!"

Fortunately the hoverbike has a low center of gravity and there's little danger of tipping over as you joyfully hug him.

"Sounds good, babe – but there's timed entry for the Gardens. Only 800 visitors are allowed inside each day, so we gotta be prompt." You can almost hear a smile in Hikaru's voice through the helmet intercom.

"Thank you so much. How did you know I wanted to see the Gardens?"

"Listened to you when we talked at the Academy, when we were aboard the _Enterprise,_ and when we walked through that city garden yesterday. We talk about plants a lot together, Cyme. So I thought there was a small chance that you'd like this."

It's flattering to know that Hikaru remembers those conversations. Has he forgotten some of the overly honest words you murmured to him last night? For the moment at least, you feel safe and happy. "I like you."

"I like you too, Longlegs. I'll collect my kiss later."

"All right, handsome. Don't you forget."

"Trust me, I won't. Of course I had to see the gardens with _you_. Who else in our crew will discuss bromeliads with me?" Hikaru asks. "According to the tourism guide they've got forty varieties here."

"Bromeliads fascinate me – we didn't have many where I grew up. The first time I had pineapple I must have spent five minutes examining it before I took a bite." Resting your helmeted head sideways on his back, you hug him again, more carefully this time. "Mmm, thank you. I'm excited about seeing everything."

He quickly squeezes your arm before gripping the handlebars again. "Should I have asked you first, made sure it didn't remind you too much of the farm?"

"No, I like this surprise; you're thoughtful. Plants will always interest me and anyway, I'm with _you_." You hold your breath, expecting his body to tense in response to your unguarded words. Instead his shoulders relax before he kicks the hoverbike into a higher gear.

In the helmet and jacket you feel comfortably unrecognizable, and so you continue to embrace Hikaru more closely than a platonic hoverbike passenger would. The closeness lets you feel his muscles shift and flex as he changes speed, and your bodies lean sideways together as the hoverbike follows the turns in the road.

Soon six enormous, treelike towers rise above the landscape. As you've read, each tower serves as the framework for a series of vertical gardens within the boundaries of the Botanical Gardens. The vertical gardens are categorized by varying plant characteristics and practical applications. Below the tree towers, natural streams and creeks wind through several hectares of gardens designed to represent climactic environments. Conservatories protect imported plants beneath glass canopies; each space is cooled by a system of circulating water.

After parking the hoverbike you and Hikaru remove your jackets and helmets and store them in lockers near the parking area.

So many smells surround you: floral scents and pungent, unfamiliar vegetation carried on morning breezes. You breathe in the warm, fragrant air and exchange a smile with Hikaru. Happiness flows through you, making this foreign world glow. His expression is almost...tender? _Different_. Clasping his hands in yours, you give them a quick, gentle squeeze before returning to the public world and your public self.

Joining a queue, you step through a sonic scanner to remove traces of organic materials that may carry undesirable fungi or bacteria into the gardens. Movement within the Gardens is restricted to foot, bicycle, or disability assistance devices only. Space colonies tend to rely on structure, rules, and procedures for survival, so you aren't bothered by the numerous rules for visitors. After a few minutes you're ready. Together you set off on a broad path bordered by dramatic plants in vivid shades of deep green, purplish black, and an oceanlike blue. By mutual agreement you and Hikaru plan to leave the bromeliad exhibit for last.

Your visible excitement must make you appealing to a wider audience, because a few other visitors look at you – some so flirtatiously that Hikaru crosses his arms and glares, causing them to scurry away. You barely notice, your attention captured by curving rows and beds of plants representing the variety of over 1,100 native species the region is known to possess.

Small signs placed in the gardens request that the public behave themselves: _Please do not litter. Reclining and sitting allowed on brxli grass and whembun moss only. We cannot be responsible for illness – do not eat these plants. Kindly keep watch over your personal items._

Hikaru asks you about your knowledge of some of the imported plants; he isn't testing you, but seems genuinely curious. "What would yourecommend for headaches?"

"Dried leaves from that berry bush," you reply, "steeped in boiling water. For flavor and a little sweetness, drop in a dried head of this flower, here, this pink one – it won't alter the healing effects."

"Say I spar too hard and I complain to you about sore muscles. After you tell me to stop whining, what would you do?"

"Hmm. After I kiss you instead of scolding you, I'd chop these leaves from this other plant, here, fine – no stems. Next I'd soak 'em in hot water, make you lay down and wrap the poultice onto your shoulder with a clean cloth. While I've got you face down I'd give you a massage too, using herb-infused oil. Or I could just find you an appropriate hypospray."

Hikaru shakes his head. "Massage instead, please. I know how to give good ones, if you're interested."

"Ooh, I'd love a massage from your capable hands, Mr. Sulu. How do I get you to use those strong hands on me?"

"Longlegs, you just tell me when and how." He winks at you, then grows serious. "Cyme, I want to ask you something. I meant what I said yesterday when I asked you to help me with the plant database after we return to the _Enterprise_. I have a project in mind – not pure science, not Starfleet, but something for the public to use. I'd like to discuss a possible collaboration with you. I'll give you full co-author credit and anything else you want."

Surprised, you stop walking. "I'm not a real botanist."

"Says the person whose first name is a botanical term. It may not be your profession, but you're no stranger to it."

"Plant names, flower names are common on farm colonies. Everyone in my family's named after a flower or plant or part of plant. We rely on plants so much that they're both exalted and common: like spiritual concepts on one hand, and like tools on the other. The terms aren't even used in a gendered way – anyone can be named with any botanical term if it represents something. My parents named me Cyme because they wanted a large family and I was the first child."

"And you did bloom, didn't you, as the term indicates? Things like that interest me, and I think other people too. Cyme, you have academic experience as well as real-life knowledge. Some of the things you know about cultural and practical uses of plants are totally unfamiliar to me. It's possible that some of the knowledge you gained on the farm colony isn't even documented anywhere. You can communicate this knowledge to others and make it accessible. Maybe you weren't too happy about that background check I ran on you, but it did provide a useful listing of your non-Starfleet publications."

"Don't tell me that _you,_ of all people, read _Xenoplanetary Homes and Gardens_ or _Colonial Space Farming,_ " you stammer.

"Nah, but I saved _your_ articles. Skimmed one of 'em while I was in the lift earlier this morning. I liked your frugality article about the vegetable-trimming garden project for kids."

"Yeah. Um, thanks. Based on real-life experience. That was one of my chores, to plant bits of onion ends, potato eyes and such to see if we could get anything more out of 'em."

"I figured as much. The article had such a personal tone."

You look over at him a bit sharply, but his expression holds no pity.

"Hikaru, are you sure that you want _your_ name on a general audience publication? Personally, I'm not ashamed of either the articles or the people who read them. I try to provide useful information in words and formats people enjoy and understand...but I wrote those articles for the 'popular' market," you say, turning away. "Not your usual research audience."

"People read all kinds of things, Cyme. I use the _Enterprise_ library'sdigital subscription service to read both _Quarterly Review of Xenobotany_ and _Sharp Sword Monthly_ , and I'm not ashamed." He touches your hand. "Please think about it. I'll treat you like the professional you are, and I'll make sure that you're properly credited for your work as a co-author. As the number of Federation-associated space colonies and space stations increases humanoids will need constantly updated plant guides written in accessible language. We can meet that need together. We could collect samples every time we're on an away team together. I'd also like spending more time in the plant lab with you."

"Hikaru, I like the idea. Very much. I know I'd enjoy working on it with you, but...I can't answer yet." The results of the call to the administrators from the space station could crumble Hikaru's plan for the two of you like fragments of a dry leaf.

Obviously he'd expected you to agree immediately, because he leans back a little and bites his lip. "All right, but you know that I'll keep asking." He lets the subject go, and touches your hand as though asking, _Are we all right_? You press your shoulder to his: _Yes, we are_. The tension eases.

Both of you enjoy a relaxed, wide-ranging conversation while walking through a series of conservatory buildings. Each contains a micro-environment exhibit depicting the planet's temperate zones. Beneath arched glass roofs, you observe orderly gardens blazing with colorful flowers; a tiny jungle; a petite desert displaying cacti, succulents and a type of pine; and a little prairie stocked with tall, swaying grasses (here a sign reads: _Allergy sufferers: please take advantage of our hypospray vending machines)_.

Occasionally a comfortable silence falls between you. During these intervals you hear rustling leaves, the voices of other visitors, water moving through streams meandering throughout the gardens, and unfamiliar animal noises. Hikaru touches you when he wants to call your attention to something, but you've long since forgotten to worry about being observed. Most of the other visitors seem to be involved in their own little bubbles of talk or contemplation, enchanted by the sights, smells, and soft sounds.

Stopping in the middle of the path, you clasp Hikaru's arm. _"_ Did you see that sign?"

_Please do not make love in public areas of the park._

"A lot of different Federation cultures visit here," Hikaru shrugs. "Some more openly affectionate than others." For a moment he leans against you. "The sign doesn't say anything about making love in _private_ areas, Cyme."

How easy it would be to reply, _Love has nothing to do with what we make_ , but that would be unkind. "Oh, no. With my luck I'd turn out to be allergic to the plants hiding us from view."

"I've got that promised kiss to collect on." His fingers trace a circle on the small of your back.

"Hmm. When you look at me that way, I could almost say yes."

A chime sounds from his communicator. "We'd better walk in that direction. The vegetarian cooking demonstration begins in five minutes, and there's timed entry for that too. Cooks and gardeners discuss local vegetables and herbs while they prepare an enormous meal and afterward the audience gets to eat."

Plant enthusiasts, tourists, and groups of children in matching shirts find seats inside a large, airy structure, a sort of partially roofed amphitheater with moveable walls and a light, vaulted roof and sides open to the air. Tiered seats border three sides of a stage set with tables holding large trays heaped with chopped vegetables. Unfamiliar objects that must be stoves and grills stretch across the back and sides of the stage.

While you wait for the event to begin you chat with other visitors seated around you. The conversation turns to parabolic solar cookers, which you often used at home during long summer working days.

"Sometimes, to use the heat and water more efficiently we'd wrap vegetables or dried vegetable protein chunks inside a net lined with cabbage leaves, then put that into the cooking pot. Several workers could cook food at the same time that way. Careful seasoning was essential – you had to find flavors everyone liked," you explain, before you notice an expression of distaste on Hikaru's face.

Lights flash, indicating the beginning of the program; you smile politely at the other visitors and end the conversation. To Hikaru, you whisper, "Have I disgusted you?"

"No! I might not cook it the same way, but I don't think that it's bad just because it's different." He clasps your arm and looks at you with a worried expression. "Cyme, did I offend you?"

You shake your head to indicate _no,_ facing the stage instead of meeting his eyes.

Gardeners and cooks wearing headset microphones introduce themselves and the cooking program over a bed of light, tinkling music, but Hikaru continues to murmur into your ear. "Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult your culture."

"It's all right. I didn't think you meant anything by it." Still feeling a bit defensive, you add: "Other humanoid cultures cook that way too, not just farm colonists trying to save water."

"Are you really okay? Longlegs, I don't want to hurt you. Next time, I'll try to be more considerate. Believe me, I really do care." His lips brush your ear and his words make your heartbeat accelerate with a mixture of adrenaline and fear. The easily recognizable Lieutenant Sulu's holding your hand and spinning sweetheart's talk right in the middle of a crowd of at least thirty people.

"Hush! Yer cute together, you two, but the show's a-startin'," someone behind you whispers loudly.

Simultaneously you both reply, "Sorry." Hikaru gets the last word in the form of a quick kiss on your mouth.

The cooking demonstration inspires you. The nature of this planet's settlement history means that it's full of imported species, some of which have altered form and become accepted as local favorites. Ideas for cooking, drying, and planting the various vegetables and herbs presented fill your mind; you let go of Hikaru's arm and begin taking notes on a small padd. Soon he begins to take his own notes. You grin at each other, delighted by your mutual nerdiness, and let your calves touch while your hands are busy.

The demonstration ends with delicious savory smells wafting through the air. Audience members join a line to receive platefuls of food. The happy feeling from earlier in the day returns, and you eat and talk with strangers without feeling self-conscious. Hikaru deploys his usual good manners and conversational charm, but he's quieter than usual, listening to and observing you.

The other visitors sharing your table prepare to leave. As Hikaru is saying goodbye to them, a stately-looking older woman walks past your table and pauses to whisper to you: "My stars, but your man's pretty to look at."

Hikaru hears, although he's clearly not meant to, and a blush creeps up his neck. If he weren't wearing a shirt, you know that you'd be able to see the flush on his chest too; his skin would grow hotter beneath your fingers. You know because you felt it happen yesterday afternoon when the two of you left the shower for the bed. But of course you can't tell the lady how pretty Hikaru looks without clothes; instead you only say, "Yes, isn't he?"

"You pair well; he suits your own very fine looks. May you be blessed and enjoy each other's company."

"Thank you, madam." The cultural dynamics of the exchange are unfamiliar to you, but she appears to mean well. Hikaru's gaze meets yours as she leaves, and he shrugs. The bromeliads may not be the most unusual thing you see here today.

Small glazed pots of locally produced tea are delivered to each table. Hikaru watches your hands while you pour out a cup for him.

"Thank you. Not a drop wasted; you're very careful with things like that."

"More farm upbringing. Every drop of water, every seed had to be used carefully."

His fingers brush yours as he takes the cup of tea from your hands. "That must have helped you fit easily into Starfleet life."

"Yes, I easily became accustomed to using resources sparingly aboard ship because I'd grown up being careful. 'Waste is sin', colony people said."

"What about wasting time? Or an opportunity, when you know that you've got something good and you don't want to lose it?" He rubs one finger along his bottom lip, looking thoughtful.

"Daylight hours were usually work time…but my family wanted a better life for us and daydreaming wasn't forbidden as long as our chores were done. As for opportunity: optimism helps make you tougher in some ways. Don't give up, think about the future."

"Speaking of the future, have you thought about what will happen when we get back to the ship?"

Half your mouthful of tea goes down the wrong way. Turning aside, you cover your mouth and cough into the bend of your elbow.

Hikaru's warm hand spreads out over your back. "You okay?"

Nodding, you manage to make eye contact and form a weak smile. "Fine – just didn't expect that. Life will go on as it did, I guess. You go back to the bridge, I go…" Suddenly you remember that you haven't checked your messages for a while; you think of the space station's lights shining in the lonely darkness of space, its corridors and chambers populated by beings who may be your future crewmates. "Hikaru, being here with you is good, but there's no privacy."

His expression is unguarded; you don't know how to interpret the emotion you see there. "Yeah, maybe this isn't the right place." He drops his hand, and despite the midday heat you wish you could feel his warmth again.

"I don't want to think about it being over," you admit.

"Doesn't have to be." His voice is so low that you barely hear him. You hear what comes next quite clearly.

"Sulu! I should have _known_ you'd be here! How's it going, man?"

A small group of Starfleet crewmates leaves the path near the amphitheater and marches toward you. Some you know from the Academy; others you know from _Enterprise_ duty. Drawn to Sulu like bees to flowers, they cluster around him, laughing and talking, most with their backs to you. Only three people return your 'hello'. Every one of them outranks you.

* * *

Thank you for taking time to read and to review, if you feel moved to do so!  Apologies for the lengthy delay between chapters. 

The Botanical Gardens in this story are loosely modeled on the Gardens by the Bay park in Singapore.  I know that the preferred term for the bromeliads is _Bromeliaceae_ , but Hikaru and Cyme are out chatting and having fun so they are speaking more informally.

A bit of background related to the cooking method Cyme describes:

" …a "cabbage net" refers to a mesh bag, often knitted, used for cooking food. The inside was lined with overlapping cabbage leaves before meat or additional vegetables were added to the bag and lowered into a larger pot of water or broth to simmer. When the cabbage net was removed, only the water drained out; this method permitted communal cooking in a single pot of water, even aboard ships." - from _Jane Austen and Food_.

Cyme is pronounced "sime", to rhyme with the English word "time". It is a botanical term meaning "a broad, flat-topped inflorescence in which the central flower is the first to open". One example would be elderflower blossoms.

As an experiment, I've made some aspects of the identity of the OC ambiguous.

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

 


	15. Playing Deep

**It's Not the Liquor Talking – Chapter 15: Playing Deep**

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine.

_Too many of us are not living our dreams because we are living our fears._

_Source: Les Brown, 20th – 21st century speaker and author._

"Playing deep" = taking risks, such as in gambling.

 

* * *

_Suggested music: Preservation Hall Jazz Band, "August Nights"_

Hikaru's frown is just visible over the back of the Starfleet officer – your  _Enterprise_ crewmate, whom you're sworn to help and protect despite even though he doesn't consider you important enough to acknowledge off-duty. Suddenly you've had enough. You remember too many other times when you were treated as an inferior being. Hikaru knows something about this part of your life – he listened and empathized when you told him about being compelled by the aggressive SecForce officer to go home and change the nice party clothes that you bought with your harvest money. Walking away made sense  _then_  – you might have been arrested, injured or killed. Now? No way in any culture's version of hell are you going to walk away from your precious time with a man you want.

 

Squaring your shoulders, you place yourself in the center of the little half-circle. "So,  _Hikaru_." You pronounce his name with attentive precision, hitting the stress and syllables in all the right places. "The bromeliad exhibit?"

 

The officers who earlier ignored you stare as though you've just now beamed down from the ship and materialized.

Hikaru speaks firmly. "Cyme is visiting the gardens with  _me_ , as I was trying to say earlier. It's been really interesting seeing this place with someone who has so much practical ethnobotanical knowledge."

"Oh," one of the officers says faintly. "Did  _you_  study botany at the Academy, uh, Cyme?"

"Yes, sir. The Academy's training was excellent, but I also learned about working with plants hands-on. I come from a farm colony that was liberated by the Federation."

Hikaru moves beside you. "That's one of the strengths of Starfleet, right? So many different talents and experiences, if you make the effort to find out."

Still feeling prickly, you keep talking. "Yep. That's one reason I wanted to work for the Federation; I believe in acknowledging and appreciating other beings, regardless of their station in life." Glancing around at the little half-circle, you offer a small, tersely polite nod of farewell. "If you'll pardon us, our allotted visiting time is waning. Enjoy the gardens, everyone." Turning on your heel, you stride away, back straight. Hikaru's beside you.

 

Once you're both out of earshot, Hikaru chuckles. "Well, somebody learned not to mess with  _you_ today."

"Hmph. Maybe I ran around without shoes in the summertime, but I was raised better than to treat folks like they don't matter. Hope I didn't make 'em too angry."

"People that self-involved won't even remember this after their first drink at Happy Hour. Anyway, it wasn't insubordination, and some of them  _were_ rude – they know it wasn't right. Don't worry; I'll back you up if you have any problems."

You poke him with an elbow. "Somehow I didn't think you notice how people fawn over you."

"How could I not? Don't get me wrong, I like recognition for my achievements; everyone does. What I don't like is people always trying to get something from me." He rolls his eyes. "Sulu, the warrior – be seen with him so you can brag to your friends about who you know. Sulu, the starship helmsman, the one with the inside connections to Federation spacecraft divisions. People want me to help them advance quickly. I can't, or won't, and they get angry. Or they want me to help them with favors from Divisions I have no authority over. I wouldn't do that sneaky shit anyway. Off duty, some people think I have no interests beyond flying ships. I want to have a personal life, too."

 

You clasp his arm. "Ah, I understand. There are times when people only see you as they want you to be."

"Some Starfleet officers crave status and power so much that they lose focus of directives and missions. That's why Jim had the softball game, to break down personal barriers. Ultimately we all depend on each other." Sighing, Hikaru pulls you into the shade of a tree with trailing leaves. "Listen, I don't want any of this to ruin our date."

Hearing him use the word  _date_  pleases you immensely, and your shoulders relax. "It's behind us now. Agreed?"

He nods. Feeling a rush of affection, you lean in and touch your nose and forehead to his for a moment. Letting things go instead of worrying is a useful strategy; you really should do it more often.

A large animated sign displays images of twirling pineapples interspersed with text and characters reading  _Beautiful Bromeliads: this way!_  Feeling braver, you interlace your fingers through Hikaru's as you follow the path to the tree tower housing the exhibit. Vertical gardens cover panels on the sides of the tall structure.

 

The bromeliad display covers a broad open area on the top level of the tree tower. Few crewmates would likely share your excitement about the broad range of shapes, sizes, and colors. Hikaru does, leaning close to examine them, marveling at their flower spikes, sharing your admiration for the epiphytic bromeliads with tough roots capable of growing around rocks. You find yourself reconsidering his plant database proposal. Romance and sex are fine things on their own, but combined with intellectual engagement and shared interests…honestly, all of that might send you into a state of bliss.

 

When you've both seen enough  _Bromeliacea_ , you accept dishes of cut pineapple from one of the guides and sit on a sunshade-covered bench bolted to a slowly rotating track. The track makes a lazy circle around the top of the tower, providing sweeping views of the sunlit city and countryside.

Hikaru stretches his legs out in front of him, his arms spread across the back of the seat. Fitting your body to his, you rest your head on his shoulder; being observed concerns you less and less by the hour.

 

"Kiss?"

His mouth is sweet, and the kiss slow. When you open your eyes you glimpse the distant blue and white of the sea before you touch Hikaru's chin and pull him closer. The next time you look, the view is of the city's shining white stone buildings; the next time, lush, deep greens and blues of the forest preserve around the Gardens. After that, colorful squares and stripes of farmland. Then you both want some water, and take a break.

 

"Hikaru, I really liked that charming drawing you left on my padd this morning. I've saved it in my personal file space so that I can look at it again. Thank you."

 

"Aw, it's more of cartoon than a drawing. I can't really draw well. But you're welcome, Cyme." Hikaru smiles modestly but seems pleased.

 

"The little animals are foxes, is that right?"

 

"Yes, a pair of  _kitsune_. The drawing doesn't exactly fit the legends, but..." he shrugs.

 

"Please tell me." You take more pineapple from a table as you rotate past. It may be a long time before you have access to sun-ripened fruit again.

 

"Foxes in Japanese legends are smart, and they can do magic. Sometimes  _kitsune_  take on human form to mislead, frighten, or drive humans mad, but can they also offer kindness, wisdom, help and protection as well as a connection to the spiritual world."

Spearing a square of pineapple on a little fork made from plant fiber, you feed it to Hikaru. "That's fascinating – I read a little bit about them as a child, but forgot the details."

" _Kitsune_  may seduce someone who doesn't know their secret, or they become the spouse or lover of a loyal partner who  _does_  know. In the morning the  _kitsune_  takes the shape of a fox again and leaves."

"Hmm." Guiltily, you think of your application for the space station. "Who seduces who?"

"In the stories, the  _kitsune_  is the one who seduces...but are you asking if the  _kitsune_  falls for the human? You could say that it goes both ways: both the fox and the human have feelings.  _Kitsune_  are also a symbol of loyalty...but there are many different kinds of foxes, depending on the story. One interesting thing is, in the classical form of Japanese meant  _kitsu-ne_ , or 'come and sleep'." He stifles a yawn, and you remember the nightmare that disturbed his rest.

 

"Are you tired, Hikaru? Maybe we'd better go back to the hotel so that you can have a nap."

 

"Mmm. Good idea." He rubs his eyes, and then puts on his sunglasses. "So, Longlegs, have you seen everything you wanted to see here?" Both of you stand up and wait for the rotating circle to come to a clear spot where you can safely step off.

"Yes. I've had a great time here with you." Holding hands, you both take a long step onto solid ground.

…

**_At the Hotel_ **

_Suggested music: Shirley Brown, "Between You and Me"_

Warm breezes carry the scent of the sea through the window as you open it. When you turn around, Hikaru slides his arms around your waist. "Go to bed, handsome," you whisper, your lips brushing his neck. You open your mouth and lick him there, tasting the salt of his sweat and making him groan.

 

"Mmm. Do that again."

 

You do.

 

"Babe, I'm really not very tired, if you want to…" Hikaru says, but he seems to be blinking in slow motion.

 

"Sleep now and you'll be ready for that sparring session with Captain Kirk. I'll wake you in two hours."

 

Conceding, he yawns, pulls back the coverlet and lies down atop the sheet, as though sleeping on top of it will guarantee a short nap. "It'll be easier if you sleep with me."

 

"Sorry, but I need to do a few things. I'll be quiet and keep this door closed."

 

"Please? At least lie down with me for a little while before you go and work." Hikaru rolls onto his back and reaches for you, but the languid movement reveals his fatigue. The hem of his sleeveless undershirt rides up, baring the line of hair trailing from low on his belly beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. He's not wearing any underwear.

 

"Until you fall asleep." Shedding your bathrobe, you stretch out beside him, pulled closer by one strong arm and a hard thigh placed atop yours.

 

Everything about him is comfortable – bare skin, warm cloth, quiet breathing. Even the way he settles the point of his chin between your neck and shoulder feels nice. "Mmm," Hikaru sighs happily. "You feel so good."

 

"So do you. I want…"

 

"Hm? Tell me."

 

"The database. I want to think and write about plants with you." Later, you can tell him that you may have to do so remotely.

 

He opens his eyes again and smiles drowsily. "Good. I am so  _glad_ , babe."

 

"Better rest now, sweet man." As you kiss his forehead his eyes close and his mouth relaxes.

 

After Hikaru falls asleep, you listen to him breathe for a few minutes, then carefully leave the bed. Moving quietly, you gather neat, plain clothing and spend time in the other bathroom preparing to make two calls: one to the space station, the other to your sister.

 

…

 

This hotel suite, like others designed for interplanetary travelers, has a little communications alcove with fabric-covered walls, two padded chairs facing a screen, and a panel of communication equipment.

Communication channels here are fast, efficient, and encrypted, the better to serve Federation clientele. You review your notes and Starfleet career and education records one more time before tapping the panel to open communications. Soon you face two space station personnel on the screen and offer them your best greeting: professional, yet approachable. Everything flows smoothly. Your education and experience are taken seriously, even your tangential remark about how your childhood farm work taught you about solar cells and plants.

"As you know, our station has several gardens and we're thinking of expanding them. Would you be interested?"

Smiling back at the screen, you nod. "Absolutely! Perhaps I could work with your crew to install a vertical garden system – with appropriate enclosures, of course – in areas of the station that see little foot traffic, yet are adequately served by the oxygen generator."

Obviously your answer pleases the Station Lieutenant. "We welcome innovation within our established structure."

No decision is made by the end of the call, but you can almost feel the possibility. You love the  _Enterprise_  and the wonder of space exploration, but people say space station job assignments offer different opportunities. You've also heard that many people find even the largest space stations claustrophobic, too similar to being stuck in a remote town similar to the one you grew up in – but hard work fills time. Leaders may notice and promote you. The knowledge and skills you've worked to acquire will be appreciated.

 

Why aren't you more excited?

 

When you open the bedroom door you see Hikaru resting on his side, chest rising and falling evenly, lips parted. One arm loosely clutches a pillow; you want to trade places with it. Maybe you will if the call to your sister is short. Sighing, you leave the door partially open so that you can hear if Hikaru has another bad dream.

 

Four minutes later you're already mired in an argument with your sister, despite your best efforts to keep the peace.

"Listen, Sis. Our problem here goes beyond you selling those wind turbine supplies to buy personal items. I need to stop paying for all this stuff and trying to help you with all the repairs on the farm, because I can't easily do it from so far away. You're smart and capable; take on more responsibilities! You'll feel more confident and be able to help neighbors, too. Your kids are old enough to notice things like leaky gutters and cracked solar panels. Hell, I learned how to help replace a cracked solar panel when I was  _nine_. Why can't your husband help when he's not working off planet?"

"He's too tired then, and I don't want to get on his nerves talking about chores."

"What about  _my_ nerves? No more. I'm stepping back to let you take care of things for a while."

"Fine. We'll manage," she replies petulantly. "Honestly, I want to leave this farm. I hear rumors about the SecForces coming back to the colony."

"That's impossible! The Federation monitors that area. Public warnings would be issued if there were real danger."

"No, the Federation doesn't always tune in to rumors. We'll get through this; just keep in touch with me. We're  _family_."

"We're also legal adults. I'll support you in learning how to support the farm and yourself."

Suddenly your sister's wordless: eyes wide, mouth open. Relieved that she's finally listening, you continue. "If the colony enters war conditions I'll do anything to help all of you..." She's looking over your shoulder, not at you. As you turn around the reason for Sis' uncharacteristic silence becomes clear.

 

A freshly woken Hikaru stands just behind your chair. Sis enjoys handsome men, one thing you two do have in common. She's probably struck silent by the sight of his bare, muscled arms and the little bit of his chest visible under his sleeveless undershirt. Unfortunately, his lack of underwear beneath the sweatpants is just as obvious while he's standing. His hair rises high and low in adorably messy bedhead chaos. For a moment words escape you too as the angry tension leaves your body. It's not so much the way Hikaru looks, but his presence that makes your agitation fade away.

 

"I heard raised voices and wanted to see if you were okay," he says quietly. He doesn't touch you but there's no way Sis will believe he's simply a colleague sharing hotel suite expenses.

 

"Thank you, Hikaru. Have a seat. I may as well introduce you to my sister."

He responds with a look asking,  _Now? You sure?_ You nod.

Wearing a bemused expression, he takes the chair beside you. Immediately his body posture and demeanor change; he holds his head and shoulders with an air of formality and you remember how he looks in his dress uniform.

"Greetings, citizen. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Hikaru Sulu, and I work with Cyme aboard the Federation spaceship, the  _Enterprise._ May I ask how to properly address you?"

"Galaxies and heavens, Starfleet manners are so formal. I'm Acantha, but you might as well just call me Sis, especially if you continue your...'acquaintance' with my sibling." She clears her throat and touches the side of her neck. You glance over at Hikaru, suddenly seeing the strawberry-sized hickey you left on his neck...last night? Yesterday afternoon? Fortunately, clothing covers the other marks.

 

"Watch it, Sis," you snap.

"Did I say anything? Mr. Sulu, tell Cyme I didn't say anything."

"I don't mind if you call me Hikaru," he replies, glancing between the two of you.

 

"So,  _Hikaru._ Cyme here has been the most caring, responsible older sibling one could hope to have, helping with the farm from aboard that big ol' ship of yours. You walked in on me being told that our support will be cut off. I understand that, uh,  _friends_  hate being involved in family arguments but that's why you heard shouting. Not that  _I_ shouted. Raised my voice a little. But of course you don't care about this."

 

"To the contrary," Hikaru says in a deep, smooth, tone of voice you've heard him use when negotiating a compromise during meetings in Captain Kirk's ready room. "Cyme has informed me of personal stress related to the situation. As a crewmate and... _friend_  concerned for Cyme's well-being, I have some opinions about the situation."

 

Sis blinks. "Eh now? And what might those be?"

"As you probably know already, communication systems aboard the  _Enterprise_ are carefully managed. Starfleet's business is Federation business. Crewmembers are allotted certain tech resources for personal use under normal conditions, but time, speed, and capacity for personal messages are limited out of necessity."

Sis is staring at Hikaru with her mouth hanging open again. She makes a nonverbal sound of consternation.

Hikaru continues. "I'm sure that you appreciate how important it is that Federation processes move smoothly, to help not only  _your_  farm colony but others like it. Yes?"

He raises both eyebrows and waits until Sis stammers, "Uh, yes."

"The work that Cyme does for the farm uses personal time and resources that would otherwise go to rest, social interaction, or time off, something Starfleet crew are  _required_ to take in order to avoid burnout. Cyme already works hard for Starfleet and tries to take on the extra responsibility of the farm. Fatigue will negatively affect Cyme's alertness during a mission. I know you wouldn't want your sibling experiencing danger or personal stress added to the usual stresses of working in space."

"Oh, no! Never."

"Lastly..." Hikaru strokes the back of your hand. "I understand that you're married, Acantha?" She nods.

"Then you already understand how important it is for both partners in a relationship to agree on how resources are used, whether it's for household expenses or in support of family. Interdependence matters, but so does  _independence_. Maybe you think I'm meddling?" Hikaru offers a half-smile. "Well, I  _am_. Cyme has told both of us about stress and worry connected to the farm. Sounds like it's time for things to change so we can take some of that stress away. I'm just offering support to Cyme and food for thought to you. Are we clear...Sis?"

 

Silence descends for a full three seconds before Sis whoops with laughter. "Eh, now! I  _like_ your man, Cyme; he's fearless. Starfleet doesn't take 'em if they're dumb but pretty, do they? Bring this one home to meet us."

 

"Sis,  _please,_ " you groan.

 

She's still grinning, apparently pleased to know more about your personal life. "Mr. Sulu, I understand you. Cyme, you were already contacting us less often, so I knew this was coming. I never expected a good-looking Starfleet pilot thrown into the mix, but then you always  _were_  a bit out of step with the rest of us. Have you noticed that about Cyme, Mr. Sulu?"

He watches you with a barely perceptible smile on his face. "It's an interesting quality."

"Eh, well, I think I'll leave you two alone. Cyme, I expect  _not_ to hear from you for a while."

"Don't you dare sell those supplies for the wind turbine," you warn her.

 

"Fine, I won't. Just to prove a point to you, we'll install those sturdy turbine parts and watch 'em last for years, thanks to Mr. Sulu advising which ones to buy. Hey, how long has this been going on between you two, anyway? Nobody  _ever_  tells me anything."

 

"Goodbye for now, Sis," you say hastily. "I know we don't always get along but I do care. Please give my love to everybody."

 

Hikaru holds your hand in full view of the screen. "Very interesting to meet you, Acantha. Perhaps we'll talk again soon."

 

"I hope you know what you're getting into, Mr. Sulu. Good wishes to you both for safe travel. Longlegs, you stubborn thing, all my love."

 

The image on the screen softens and fades. You turn to Hikaru. "Much as I love Sis, as the youngest she's occasionally...unguarded in her way of speaking."

 

"Really?" He grins. "I kind of like her. At least I know what she thinks."

 

"I shouldn't have let you lie to her. I know that you meant to help, but -"

 

"What did I lie about, Cyme?"

 

"Excuse me, bad choice of words. You didn't  _lie_. You  _implied_ that we were together and combining our resources."

 

Hikaru turns in his chair and leans toward you. "When are you going to stop playing with me and give us both a chance?"

 

"I'm not sure what you-"

 

"Cyme, don't do this. You know what I'm talking about. I like you. Unless I'm confused, I think you like me, too. We need to decide what we're going to do once we're back aboard ship. I really want to try to make something more from what we already have."

 

"I do have...feelings for you – strong ones, but there's a problem. Earlier I talked to you about rank, advancement, how I fit into Starfleet -"

 

"This again?" he pushes a hand through his hair in frustration. "Please don't say we can't even  _try_  because of that. I already told you, rank and status don't matter to me. Can't you feel that?"

 

The communication panel chimes to indicate an incoming message and you freeze. What if it's the space station responding with an offer? Explaining it to Hikaru now will be awkward at best.

 

"Incoming message from Captain James T. Kirk. Will you accept?" the computer asks in a flat, polite tone. Panicked, you look at Hikaru, then bolt from your chair.

 

* * *

Thanks for taking time to read this multi-chapter story! As an experiment, I've made some aspects of the identity of the OC ambiguous. Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine. Please review, if you feel moved to do so!

Next chapter will include some NSFW interaction.

 


	16. Bedroom Stories

**It's Not the Liquor Talking – a STXI Hikaru Sulu fanfic by Zizi West**

**Chapter 16: Bedroom Stories**

Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine. Warnings: Some bad language and sexual interaction. Long read (over 3k words).

* * *

 

_**In the hotel suite** _

 

Your long legs carry you behind the open bedroom door just as Jim Kirk's image appears on the large screen. Once there, you're stuck. The two-way communication video function is active, and the Captain will probably see you if you try to close the door or leave the suite. 

 

“Hi, Jim.” Hikaru says tersely.

 

“Hey, Sulu. Gotta tell you something, gotta ask you something. Is this a bad time?”

 

“Duty first.” He bites the words off sharply, avoiding the question. You peek out to see Kirk squint at him from the screen.

 

“Something wrong, Sulu? You've been in a fuckin' cheerful la-di-dah mood all week, but not today.” Kirk usually filters his speech carefully when on duty, apparently . “What's the problem -- dry dick? This is more than a Federation outpost, it’s a _resort_ town. Get out there and get some. Friendly locals have given me three ‘welcoming parties’ so far. ”

 

“Chasing ass got old years ago.” Hikaru shrugs, but the movement’s stiff and he looks away. “We’re friends, but drop it, okay? I’m not sleeping around on this planet.”

 

“So you just give yourself a five-fingered salute every night instead?”

 

 

“Jim, with all due respect: fuck you.”

 

 

“Nah, I already know I'm not your type.”

 

Hikaru hurls a chair cushion at Kirk's laughing image. “Hey, I won't ask again. Go on, be mysterious.”

 

“Just don’t call me inscrutable and we’re cool,” Hikaru replies dryly. 

 

Kirk laughs again. “Never. Like I’d ever be so disrespectful to you. All right, business.” Kirk sits up straight in his chair and his voice pitches lower. “No emergency yet, but a Federation contact informed me that the _Enterprise_ may be called to support Federation warships in defense of a small planet, a farm colony liberated by the Federation several years ago. We may bring refugees aboard. A small trade freighter observed unmarked combat ships practicing attack movements and shooting up asteroids in a nearby sector for target practice. There are rumors of a possible attack on the farm colony to reclaim it and exploit its people, forcing them into unpaid agricultural labor.”

 

Hikaru leans forward. “Which colony?”

 

“Spadix – 12.”

 

Sis was right. You press your hand over your mouth to stifle your groan of dismay. Hikaru's head moves as though he wants to turn and look for you. “When will the _Enterprise_ move into position?” 

 

“Starfleet and Federation allies asked us to wait in order to minimize attention to increased Federation presence in the area. Our away team spends tonight and one more day here as originally scheduled. Then we return to the _Enterprise_ and detour to Spadix-12,” Kirk explains. He picks up a padd from a table beside him. “As Captain, I think it's important to tell crewmates in advance when our mission affects their homes or loved ones. The Enterprise has a Spadixian crewmate.”

 

“Cyme.” Even from a distance, you see Hikaru's knuckles go pale as he grips the arms of the chair. 

 

“Yeah, that's the one. Good softball player. I need to inform Cyme of this situation, but I got a weird autoresponse from the messaging system.” Kirk looks down, reading “Listen: ‘The room booked under that name was vacated and is now occupied by a different hotel guest.’ Ensign Miranda told me that Cyme’s been seen in this hotel and at the Botanical Gardens, so it’s not a question of absence without leave.” 

 

As you peer through the space between the door and the doorjamb you see Hikaru's shoulders tense, rising toward his ears. 

 

During the bad years of physical and psychological cruelty used as social control by the SecForces, your family held on tight to the best parts of being human. Lovingly, they taught you compassion, personal sacrifice, quiet confidence, belief in justice. _Freedom will come some day_ , they said; it's beginning to, though slowly. Part of being human is being able to speak up. If you can't find the right words to tell Hikaru how you feel, you can at least try to do the right thing. 

 

When you put your hand on Hikaru's shoulder, he looks up and your eyes meet. The entire room seems illuminated by the expression on his face.

 

Captain Kirk's still looking down at the screen of the padd. “Sulu, I know you hate crew gossip, but do you know where Cyme’s sleeping?”

 

“Yeah. With me.” 

 

Kirk's eyes widen only slightly before he nods in greeting, and a perceptive look on his face quickly comes and goes. Perhaps he understands more of humanoid behavior than the gossips assume; good looks and power aren't the onlyreasons why so many different beings indulge in physical contact with him. 

 

“Good afternoon, Ensign. At ease.” Captain Kirk points his stylus toward the empty chair beside Hikaru. 

 

Controlling your shallow breathing, you reply. “Good afternoon, Captain. Please excuse me for intruding, and please don't blame Hikaru for this; no coercion, it's something I wanted.” Hikaru inhales audibly and glances toward you. Your knees shake only a little as you sit down.

 

Shoulders straight, the man beside you is Lieutenant Sulu again, every part of his body poised for duty except the hand holding yours. “Jim, this is a mutual thing between Cyme and me.”

 

Captain Kirk taps his stylus on his chin, watching. You try to explain further.

 

“Captain, I asked Hikaru to hide our involvement from crewmates because I worried that people might think badly of our motives – considering that he’s bridge crew, and I’m an Ensign.”

 

Kirk sighs. “No offense meant, Cyme, but considering the history of social oppression on Spadix-12, I’m not surprised to hear you say that. Rank and status shouldn’t be the most important thing on the _Enterprise;_ the fact is, both matter a lot to certain people.” He regards the two of you calmly. “What two adult crewmates do together is their own business, but if fraternization prevents either of you from fulfilling your duty, expect consequences.”

 

“Yes, Captain.”

 

“Did you hear everything I told Sulu up to this point, Cyme?”

 

“Everything, Captain, and I'll keep it all confidential. Sir, my sister told me earlier today about a rumor circulating on Spadix : all she said was that the SecForces may return and she wants to leave the planet.” 

 

Kirk frowns. “Your sister heard pretty much the same information that Federation intelligence already gathered from people working at transporter depots, on remote farms, and the freighter. Some farmers have armed themselves with tools and fertilizer, but Starfleet will be ready to assist or evacuate the population. Bones and the medical team have trauma resources ready, just in case. Be assured, we'll try to help your sister and her family.” 

 

The much-debated wind turbine supplies were probably among that freighter's cargo. The argument with Sis feels trivial as you imagine the population struggling to defend itself. Most likely, Hikaru will be on the bridge ready to fire photon torpedoes if the attack does take place; he’ll be under tremendous stress too. 

 

Drawing in a deep breath, you sit up straight. “Captain, I’ll do anything to help. Is it really the SecForces, or a new group planning to exploit agricultural labor?” Sadly, attempts to take over farm colony planets aren't uncommon.

 

“Nothing’s confirmed but it’s a possibility,” the Captain replies. “Remember, all ships observed to date are unmarked.”

 

“Sir, I know _how_ the SecForces fight, markings or no markings. As a kid I hid under the bed when they sent out low-flying ships. They would set crops aflame to stop protests by scaring people with the threat of famine, or they'd attack homes to force people to abandon mineral-rich lands. Put me on duty. Tap into their comm channels: I can translate SecForce slang and work with Lieutenant Uhura's team. Beam me down planetside and I can spy or scout. I won’t stand by while they abuse people again.”

 

“Your enthusiasm and loyalty are commendable, Cyme, but you may not be directly involved. First, the Federation prefers to avoid hand-to-hand combat if possible.“ Kirk leans forward, elbows planted on the desk. “Second because of your personal connection to Spadix, I need to think carefully about your role. Emotions can ruin missions.”

 

“Sir, I promise to help, not seek revenge.”

 

Kirk looks at Hikaru. “Your emotions aren’t the only ones I have to consider during a combat situation.”

 

“Under all circumstances, I fly the _Enterprise_ thinking of the safety of everyone aboard,” Hikaru says firmly. “Of course I’ll want to protect Cyme, but I won’t endanger our crew or Starfleet ships. ”

 

Captain Kirk rubs his forehead, looking less boyish than you’ve ever seen him. “Good intentions. Any sign of personal issues overshadowing Starfleet or Federation actions, and I pull both of you off duty. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” both you and Hikaru say.

 

“Thank you.” Kirk taps the padd and his posture changes, indicating the end of the discussion. “Cyme, don't contact your sister again until I give you the all clear. While we wait for details, I want everyone to carry on with their normal activities. Sulu, I scheduled a crew sparring session. I expect both of you.”

 

“Yes, we'll meet you at the athletic fields in an hour.”

 

“Kirk out.”

 

As Kirk's image vanishes, you select the 'no-contact' setting on the communication panel and turn to Hikaru. “Can you forgive me for telling the Captain about us?”

 

“About time you did it. I'm glad.”

 

His answer makes you sigh in relief, but there's one more thing to say. “I need to tell you something. Do you mind if I open the balcony door? I feel like I need to be outdoors.”

 

Hikaru gets up and walks to the balcony with you. “Being near plants would help too, wouldn't it?”

 

“Good guess, or good observation.” Taking his hand, you hold it to your cheek. “Being around plants calms me down.”

 

He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone. “Same for me.” Both of you sit near the open door; a breeze carries in the scent of the sea and blooming flowers. 

 

“Three weeks ago, I applied for a job transfer to a Starfleet station,” you say. “Believe me, I admire many people in the _Enterprise_ crew, and I like being part of the mission, but I was at a low point, comparing myself to others.”

 

“Try to live on praise, and you'll starve.” Hikaru shakes his head. “Why'd you feel that way? From what I've heard, crew respect your work ethic and they like you. _I_ like you. Jim does, too, even though he wasn’t too pleased with us earlier. Believe me, I hear a lot on the bridge and you’re well regarded even though people don't always tell you.”

 

“Somehow I wasn't appreciating all of the good things around me. Every human being has ambitions; mine got mixed up with frustration and self-pity. I felt lonely and thought that different work could help me get noticed for my skills and experience, or even for _myself_. Doing that seemed easier on a space station.”

 

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

 

“The first night I didn't think it mattered, even though I really liked you and was excited. I thought you were just curious or wanted company. Never thought you’d ask me to stay, but I was happy when you did. The second day, I was even happier being with you and wondered if taking the space station job would be a mistake. Today, I had an information-gathering interview with them and now I _know_ it's a mistake--”

 

“ _What_? When?” His voice is the loudest you’ve ever heard it.

 

“While you slept.”

 

“Dammit, Cyme.” He stands up and paces the room. 

 

“Hikaru, I was going to tell you just before the Captain called. Anyway, I applied for that transfer long before I thought you’d ever flirt with me!”

 

“Oh, I flirted for months, Cyme; you just didn’t notice.” He rolls his eyes. “So how'd the interview go?” he asks coldly.

 

“Well enough, I suppose. They listened and seemed interested in my ideas and experience. I felt validated.”

 

“Good for you, I guess. What happened to those _other_ 'feelings' you claimed to have?”

 

“Believe me, they're real. Hikaru, I don’t want to leave for the space station.”

 

He stops pacing and turns toward you. “Are you staying only because the _Enterprise_ will defend Spadix? I don’t blame you, of course.”

 

“No, that's not the only reason. Even if Spadix remains peaceful, I want to stay because of _you_ \--if you still want to try. Being with you is like leaving a small world and suddenly realizing that you can explore a bigger one.” You press your hands together to stop them shaking. “I'm not expressing myself well.” 

 

“Longlegs, I think I get it.” Hikaru's voice is low and soft. Your hands stop shaking when his cover them. 

 

“I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I'm worried about youflying the ship or going planetside to Spadix. I know you can do it well, but…”

 

“Babe, that's out of our control. What's between you and me...that's something we can work with.” He pulls you close, and you hold him as tightly as you can and still breathe.

 

“I've told you everything, Hikaru. No more secrets.” 

 

“Talk to me about this stuff next time, so that we don't have to do this again.”

 

“I will. Should I leave you alone for a while, so you can get ready?”

 

“Thanks. Give me a few minutes.” He lets you go, and kisses your forehead, having released his anger so easily that you're almost envious. “You'll need time to change too,” he says with a nod at your clothes. 

 

“I'll wear these clothes to contact the space station. I'm going to thank them for their time and tell them I'm canceling my request for the transfer.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Hikaru's small smile makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and it seems to flow from him to you. This time it's your mouth that he kisses. “See you in a few minutes, babe.” 

 

… 

 

News spreads fast in Starfleet. Although the space station representatives are disappointed to learn you've no longer available, they don't look surprised. One alludes to the rumors of the attack on Spadix, even though no formal announcements have yet been made. You realize that the reps believe you refer to the attack when you discreetly explain that you're withdrawing your application for 'personal reasons'. 

…

_**At the Athletic Fields** _

_Suggested music: King Hector and the Soul Dynamites, “Broasted or Fried”; Hot 8 Brass Band, "Wolf Burger"_

 

Arriving early at the sparring ground, as Hikaru insisted, was wise: you don't run a gauntlet of stares. Ever punctual, Spock is already there with Lieutenant Uhura. Nyota looks up from checking Spock's protective gloves and smiles in greeting as she notices you and Hikaru holding hands. While Spock and Hikaru are talking she gives you a subtle wink and thumbs-up sign. By the time most of the other crewmates and Captain Kirk arrive, Hikaru's already warming up while you stretch on the sidelines. 

 

As you help Hikaru strap black protective pads onto his arms and legs, some people stare, especially when he kisses your cheek after you double-check a chest strap. You can almost see understanding flicker from one person to another like flames of a spreading prairie fire. Quickly it becomes obvious that the day's hot topics are the possible defense of Spadix-12 and the visual evidence of Lieutenant Sulu’s sexuality and personal life. 

 

Gazes move over your body as though your fairly modest shorts and T-shirt might reveal secrets. Behaving normally, you greet crewmates and listen to Spock, Jim, and Hikaru review guidelines for the sparring practice. 

 

As crewmates pair off to spar, Groen/Green, the crewmate who approached you earlier this morning, sidles up to you. “Well, _you_ work fast. How _is_ Sulu when you get him naked?”

 

“Private, just like I am. Excuse me, please.” You walk away. Rude? So was the question. 

 

Stripping down in the open air Hikaru gradually peels down from sweatpants and T-shirt to a pair of black shorts as the afternoon grows hotter. Men’s legs are among your favorite body parts, and his are beautiful, especially his thighs. You’ve touched and bitten them, but during those naked times you were more focused on doing and feeling than looking. 

 

You work through timed bouts with other crewmates, then hold up a padded target as Hikaru tries a few practice fist strikes and kicks. “Don’t go easy just because _I’m_ holding it,” you say. “Hit the target like you mean it. Make use of this real gravity while you’ve got it.”

 

Grunting, he doubles his force and hits the target hard enough to knock you off balance. 

 

“Nice one! Gimme more.” He does. This new experience of his physicality fascinates you. 

 

Spock pairs with Hensdorff; few other crewmates are strong and stocky enough to handle Vulcan strength. Several meters away you see Nyota sparring too, pausing in her practice to work with a pair of women ensigns. Bridge officers trade off in the sparring, taking breaks to watch other crew. “Vary your pace and technique!” Kirk shouts. “Think of quick and dirty fighting, 'cause that's probably what you're gonna face. Be ready.” 

 

The emotional atmosphere around the field seems full of different tensions: curiosity, aggression, fear of the unknown. People push their bodies harder, practice known skills while trying to perfect new ones. Some crewmates will party and drink wildly tonight – _this may_ _be our_ _last chance_. 

 

“Ready, Sulu?” Jim Kirk strides over and removes his shirt with a flourish, producing a chorus of gasps, murmurs, and giggles. 

 

Sweat gleams on Hikaru's bared skin and his flexing muscles mesmerize you, as does his skill with the blunted weapons he employs first in his combat with Hensdorff, then with Kirk. Hikaru takes Jim down with a sweeping kick to his knees, causing the taller man to sprawl on his back, then crouches over him with one hand ready to strike at his chest, the other gripping his collapsible katana. In the interest of safety he doesn't extend the blade. 

 

“Hm. I’d surrender immediately in that position,” you murmur aloud. Fortunately no one hears. 

 

Kirk isn’t wearing much either -- shorts, arm and shin pads. For an undisciplined moment you imagine yourself prone in the Captain's position. Or between Lieutenant Sulu _and_ Captain Kirk. Hikaru helps Kirk up, and your eyes meet while your eyes are still wide and your lips are still parted. He doesn't smirk when he sees your expression, but he knows. 

 

_Galaxies and heavens_ _! I need to take a turn around the field until my thoughts cool down._ Springing to your feet, you begin to run a lap.

 

…

 

_**After dinner / Back at the hotel** _

_Suggested music: Gerry Mulligan, “Gee Baby, Ain't I Good to You”_

 

Hikaru wears the same suit he wore on your first night together, along with a crisp white shirt fresh from the clothing refresher. The Federation event's semi-casual, so he leaves off the vest. Without being asked or asking you adjust his necktie and brush a hand over his suit. When you stroke one of his eyebrows into place he clasps your wrist and kisses the center of your palm. 

 

“I could get used to this,” he says. 

 

“Good. I like doing things for you, sweet man.” The room's quiet for a moment as you exchange a smile. Feeling so comfortable with someone feels simultaneously new and familiar. “Did you rest well this afternoon before I woke you? No dreams?”

 

He sighs deeply and settles his arms around your waist. “No bad ones, and yeah, I slept all right. I'm glad that you insisted that I nap.”

 

“Please, Hikaru, no matter what happens with us, will you see Dr. McCoy about your nightmares? The treatment method is your choice, but I want you to be free of that trouble and have some peace. Do it for yourself if not for me.” 

 

“All right.” He leans forward and touches his nose to yours. “Thank you.”

 

“You know that I'll bother you about it until you go to Sickbay.” 

 

“Of course you will, my fine, stubborn thing.”

 

…

 

_**At the Federation Reception** _

_Suggested music: Duke Ellington and his Orchestra, “Blue Pepper”_

 

Tonight's Federation event is a quasi-social reception inside an airy private mansion full of elevated walkways, crystal sculptures, huge video panels with changing images of island scenery, and interior balconies with shiny metal bars. Walls covered with white tile are offset by columns carved from a sparkling local stone into the shapes of humans and trees. Even the reception food – fussy little protein-rich canapes on glass plates – bears gleaming edible garnishes. The only reason you can easily make out individual conversations amid all of those hard surfaces is that there is carpeting. Unfortunately it's pale green, but one can't have everything. 

 

“Lord help us, but the décor here is dreadful,” drawls Dr. McCoy. He's beamed down this evening and will return to the _Enterprise_ with the crew after the final day planetside. “What mood were they trying to capture? Bordello? Shopping mall? Spaceport restroom? Bathroom fixture supply store? Shoulda had these festivities outdoors; the local landscape's gorgeous, and this party would be a mite more tolerable.” 

 

McCoy arrived at the reception with Captain Kirk, making you wonder if they've been reviewing medical response plans for the defense of Spadix. 'Bones' is a kind man in his way, and you're glad to chat with him while Hikaru extricates himself from the conversational tangle of a cluster of diplomats. Even though McCoy didn't grow up on the kind of farm you did, the details of your early, rural life seem to make sense to him. 

 

“Hikaru said something about security concerns. They moved the party inside because it's easier to monitor the perimeters of the house.”

 

“Right, 'cause of Spadix. Not that anyone's goin' after us on _this_ planet. The locals earn too much from Federation business to risk losing it, and the tourists are too busy carousing. So, you and Sulu are on a first-name basis now. When did that happen?” Dr. McCoy changes topics so smoothly that you're unprepared and answer directly. It's simpler. 

 

“We're, uh, enjoying each others' personal companionship, Doctor. He's a good man and I'm...fond of him.”

 

Doctor McCoy stretches out his long legs in front of the overstuffed silver brocade couch both of you are seated on. “Izzat so? Cain't blame you, really. Sulu _is_ a good guy, smart and dedicated. 'Bout time he found somebody nice to keep company with. He's been single and grumpy for a long time, 'cause he didn't _like_ being single. Hope it goes well for you two, Cyme. Whatever mojo you got workin' on Sulu seems to be making him happier.” McCoy looks up and nods. 

 

Elegant in his beautifully cut dark suit, Hikaru approaches. The little frown line between his eyebrows relaxes and vanishes as your eyes meet. 

 

“Hi, Len. Hey, Longlegs.” Without hesitation, Hikaru sits beside you, his arm settling comfortably around your shoulders. McCoy quirks an eyebrow upon hearing _Longlegs,_ but a deep sip of his drink is his only comment. “It's a little early to fight a battle that hasn't even begun, but some Federation heads are discussing defense strategy and cultural restoration efforts for Spadix-12.”

 

“Really? Why don't they ask me what I think? I'm the only Spadixian here tonight.”

 

“Some people like to talk around a situation, or they assume that they already know what Spadixians think from reading dossiers and watching vids. Bad approach.” Hikaru shrugs. “Some of them _did_ ask Jim – a bit more sensible, as the _Enterprise_ will actually be near Spadix-12.” 

 

“How _do_ you feel about this situation, Cyme?” McCoy asks. 

 

“Worried, a bit cautious. Not just for my family and friends and the population, but for our crew as well. SecForces don't have many allies beyond their own loose groupings but they can be ruthless. During the sparring session Captain Kirk warned crew to be ready for dirty fighting, and he was right to do so.” 

 

“Quiet as it's kept...” McCoy's voice lowers. “This ain't the Federation's only go-round with these SecForce criminals recently. Starfleet missions focus on exploration and discovery, true. That's our job. But if we can help folks escape brutality every now and then...” he nods, then looks toward the nearby bar. “Despite all this ostentation, folks here fix some mighty weak drinks. Join me?” he asks, standing.

 

Sparkling rows of bottles filled with colorful fermented and distilled liquids cover half of a long table. Guests imbibe freely; the local Trade Commission is paying for the liquor tonight.

 

“Want a drink?” Hikaru asks. Over the past two days, you've had only two drinks; you didn't even finish the last one. These drinks are free, but they may cost you something dear.

 

“No, thanks. It would loosen me up; that's why I don't want a drink, because it won't be only one for me. I don't want to do that anymore.”

 

Hikaru looks at you solemnly, then touches your arm. “Wait a sec, Longlegs.” He crosses the room with McCoy, returning a few minutes later with two glasses of water with citrus and pineapple slices. You stroke his hand with your fingers before taking the glass from him. “Thanks, handsome. I'll limit my indulgences to dancing, food and sex from now on.”

 

“As long as you do all of that with _me_ , I've got no complaints.” He grins, touching the lip of his glass to yours. 

 

Several Federation officials eventually do ask your thoughts on the Spadix-12 defensive actions . After responding diplomatically and expressing your commitment to Starfleet, you feel as though you've fulfilled your obligations for the night and can't bear to discuss it any more. Judging from the number of Starfleet personnel slipping away from the party, others feel the same. Your communicator chimes softly with a message: _Attention,_ _Enterprise crewmates: let's meet up for an after-hours dance party._

 

McCoy glances at his communicator. “Whaddya know! They even invited _my_ old ass to go out on the town with 'em.”

 

Hikaru laughs. “Len, everybody knows you still like to dance. Where's everybody going?”

 

“Some nightclub with Federation security clearance. Seein' as how I value my hearing and lower back, I may skip it. I could just go back to my room and read sermons or improving literature or somethin'.”

 

“Come with us, Dr. McCoy,” you say. “It'll be more fun with you.”

 

He pretends to grimace. “Aww...all right, half an hour. Then I'm headin' to a jazz club where they play quieter grown folks' music.” He looks across the room, nodding towards an attractive, silver-haired Federation official who smiles seductively back.

 

Your own improved situation hasn't made you an expert on flirting, but you're more attuned now. “Len, you've already planned to meet someone at this jazz club, haven't you?”

 

“Starfleet taught me well: always have a backup plan.” 

 

…

 

_**At a nearby Federation-approved nightclub** _

 

_Suggested music: MC Solaar, “Leve-Toi et Rap”; Nas & Junior “Gong” Marley, “As We Enter”; Basement Freaks, “Bedroom Stories”; Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, “Let Them Knock”; Butch Cassidy Sound System, “Spirits Jam Dub”; Hardly Subtle, “Stop Me Like This”_

 

The nightclub's darker, the drinks stronger. Crewmates get loose, hips gyrating, their bodies and laughter relaxed and free. Jim Kirk stays for a while. He barely drinks, doesn't dance, and eventually leaves, looking distracted. 

 

Hikaru lets you lead him in a slow partner dance. First you place his hands on your hips, making him smile with anticipation. Resting your forearms on his shoulders, you face him and silently indicate that you should both slowly gyrate your hips together in time, gradually bending your legs as you lower yourselves to the floor, then wind your hips as you both rise back up. It looks simple but requires careful attention to one's partner and physical contact. Hikaru catches on quickly and follows you down, moving in time with the beat, then back up.

 

“Hmm, Longlegs. Surely you didn't learn this on Spadix.” 

 

“No, not there, although I did get kicked out of a town party once for my 'hip-led dance moves'. Some of Starfleet members from Earth island nations taught me this slow one. Is that a pout, eh? I didn't spend all of my Academy time being shy.” 

 

He speaks into your ear (the music isn't nearly as loud as Dr. McCoy feared). “Cyme, for someone who grew up under a repressive occupying force, you have some very sensual qualities.”

 

“Yeah, well, when everybody thinks they know more about your sexuality than _you_ do, it's natural to resist by developing a clear sense of what you really want. I developed a pretty rich fantasy life, too.” You tug his shirt collar gently, then rub your fingertips along the silky fabric of his necktie. 

 

Hikaru raises an eyebrow at you. “Something tells me I need to know more about these fantasies. Cyme, are you aroused by suits and ties?”

 

“By themselves? Nah. With you wearing 'em?” Teasingly, you make your upper body quiver, mimicking a sensation of ecstasy. It's enough of an answer for Hikaru, whose hand moves down over the small of your back and pulls you close. Facing each other, almost touching, your hips rock in time to the music in a lazy, seductive rhythm. The DJ doesn't let you walk away from this; another slow tune begins, sending you further down the slope of arousal and clouding your thoughts. 

 

Hikaru brushes his lips against the curve of your ear. “I saw you watching me on the sparring field.”

 

“Hm. I worked as hard as anyone else today, and I was just waiting to see if you needed help taking the pads off.”

 

“You looked at me like you wanted something.” He looks at you expectantly.

 

“I do.”

 

Taking advantage of a moment of darkness in the changing light patterns, Hikaru watches your face and touches your inner thigh, which trembles involuntarily. You bite your lip. 

 

Hikaru's smile is so, so wicked. 

 

… 

_**On the road back to the hotel** _

_Suggested music: Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Gold Lion”_

It's the end of your first day of hoverbike riding with Hikaru, but already your bodies lean into road curves and corners in tandem , as though you've ridden together much longer. Wind rushing past the hoverbike cools you off just the right amount. As the bike follows the curve of the broad avenue leading back to the hotel, a small animal runs across the road. 

 

Quickly, Hikaru slows the hoverbike although it has no wheels to injure the animal. The creature's under the road lights just long enough for you to glimpse fur, four paws, two long white-tipped tails, and pointed ears. A little chill prickles along your neck below your helmet despite the warmth of the summer night. Hikaru slows the hoverbike down to look into the bushes along the roadside, but the animal's gone.

 

“Foxes live in this sort of environment?” you wonder aloud. “Odd.”

 

Hikaru's voice is quiet over the intercom. “Maybe it's an introduced species. Foxes can be pretty hardy creatures.”

 

“I'm glad that we didn't hurt it.”

 

“Hmm.” He kicks the bike into gear, and you glide away.

 

...

 

_**Back in the hotel suite** _

 

“May I ask you a favor, Mr. Sulu?” Your fingers trace the lines of his lapels. Both of you stand shoeless near the front door to the suite. During the ride up in the lift Hikaru touched you through your clothes, never touching your bare skin, and it's made you restless. 

 

“Ask, and I'll see what I can do. Is it a...personal service?” A mischievous expression in his eyes suggests that he already knows.

 

“On our first night you said something about taking me while wearing your suit if I didn't behave. Well, I've been a bit out of sorts today and I'd like you to help me settle down. You in the suit, me wearing nothing at all.”

 

“Hmm. In my second best suit, Longlegs? ”

 

“Pssh. I'll have it professionally cleaned. Of course, if you'd rather not --”

 

He pulls you closer to him for a kiss, and the hardness at the front of his trousers tells you how aroused he is by your words. 

 

“Is this some recurring fantasy of yours, sex involving a suit?” Hikaru asks, his hands busy. Although you've undressed for him and been naked with him, he hasn't undressed you yet. Maybe someday he'll do it slowly, but not tonight, not when he's already breathing hard and his voice trembles a little.

 

“Yes. For a long time. Never actually did it.” You move your arms and legs to help him bare your body, holding on to him when you need to keep your balance. 

 

“Glad that I can help.” Finally he's looking at your nude body; extending a hand, he lets his warm fingers follow his gaze. “Ah, Cyme.” Feeling you tremble, he meets your eyes and frowns. “Do you feel safe with me?” 

 

“Yes; I'll tell you if something's bad. Please don't stop.”

 

“Okay.” He strokes a path over your sternum, first with his hand, then his hot, open mouth, finishing off with a kiss. “Walk over to that panel, face it, and spread your arms.”

 

It's a tall panel meant to serve as a room divider. Metal posts affix it to the floor and ceiling. made from some translucent material in a soft, pearly color. It feels cool against your bare skin as you spread your palms flat against its smooth surface. 

 

Warmth covers your back; you feel the buttons on the front of Hikaru's shirt, the thicker fabric of his jacket, his belt buckle and trousers. When you glance down you see his bare feet between your spread ones; then he takes a step back, finding a comfortable position for you both. 

 

“Did you have a good time tonight, treasure?” he murmurs against the nape of your neck. 

 

“Yes. I didn't drink and I sort of liked the party anyway.” Your voice catches as you try to breathe normally; you rest your warm forehead against the cool panel. 

 

“Good. I'm not much of a drinker myself so when we go to other parties together, having another water drinker beside you may make it easier. When I'm tipsy I miss chances to pick up useful information, so I save it for purely social events.” Hikaru's hands caress the front of your body while he speaks to you in a deep, calm voice. It's hard to concentrate on what he's saying, and in a few seconds you're going to start moaning. 

 

“Want to know another reason why I don’t drink much alcohol?” Hikaru asks. “It means that I can’t fuck. At least, not very well, and I _like_ to fuck.” 

 

He pauses; you feel his body heat through his shirt. “Dirty talk okay with you, babe?”

 

“This time, yeah.”

 

“All right.” He gives your belly a reassuring squeeze, then slips back into the role. 

 

“I think that you like to fuck, too. Is that true, fine thing?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Do you like the way I fuck you?” His lips move against your shoulder, his breath damp and heated.

 

Now your knees are shaking. “Yes. Oh, _yes_.”

 

His fingers rest atop your hipbones. “Want me to fuck you again?”

 

“ _Please_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Readers, thanks for your patience, and for taking time to read this multi-chapter story! Please take a moment to post a review, if you have any responses to this story. As an experiment, I've made some aspects of the identity of the OC ambiguous. Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine.   


	17. Give/Get

It’s Not the Liquor Talking : a Star Trek AU Hikaru Sulu fanfic

**Chapter 17: Give/Get**

Warnings this chapter: sexual activity. Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine. 

It takes a hundred times more skill to make love than to command an army.

 _Source: Ninon de Lenclos, French writer and courtesan (1620-1705)_

* * *

 

Hikaru's strong hands close over your hips, moving you into place as the varied textures of his suit, shirt, and tie brush against your bare body. 

 

“ _Please_ , you say? Always so polite, my Cyme. I _will_ fuck you if you want me to, but I want more.” The rising bulge at the front of his trousers pushes at the cleft of your ass. Sweat dampens your palms, making your hands slide against the panel with a squeaking sound. It barely registers over the loudness of your combined breathing. 

 

“I'm naked. My knees are shaky. This isn't enough?”

 

“Give me more than your body, treasure.” Smooth, hard angles of his cheek bone, then his chin nuzzle your neck and shoulder. “Be loud for me.” A strong hand moves between your legs, teasing, stroking, circling; in the quiet room you hear the sounds of his fingers on you. “What do I have to do to make you wild?”

 

“ _Ohhh._ You're doing it.” A damp circle forms beneath your open mouth on the smooth, glass-like surface of the panel. “Hikaru, _please_.”

 

“I like hearing you say my name. You've always said it _right,_ from the first time I met you at the Academy.” 

 

“Had to get it right; I wanted your attention.” 

 

Hikaru chuckles softly. “You've got it now.” Smooth and low, his voice is melting your inhibitions just as steadily as the movement of his hand. “But do I have yours, babe? Hmm, let me be absolutely sure.” Extra pressure from his fingers makes your hips jut forward as your head falls back against his shoulder, and you moan loudly.

 

“Mmm, _nice_.” When Hikaru talks you feel his chest vibrate beneath the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Are you gonna be so loud when I'm inside you?” Pulling his fingers away, he wraps one arm across your chest, holding your hip with the other. 

 

“Try me.”

 

Hikaru turns you around and you see that his expression is as full of lust and mischief as your own. “Oh, we fit. Get me? We _fit,_ ” he says in a fierce whisper, and leans in for a deep kiss. It's probably dangerous to wrap one legs around his hips and move your hips against him while you're barefoot and naked, but not with Hikaru; he holds you steady. A good thing, because when you pause for breath, the room tilts a bit. This man seems to make you drunk. 

 

“Facing you or away?” you ask, sounding tipsy even to yourself.

 

He lowers your leg to the floor, and his thick hair tickles your face as he leans down to kiss your nipples. Even that brief touch makes you shiver and clutch his jacket. 

 

“Hands on the panel and wait for me.”

 

After you comply he leaves to get the cream, that almost-contraband sexual accessory he used during the first night. Even though you know each other and Starfleet helps to keep you healthy with various implants and medications, neither of you has asked the other certain questions. No danger awaits, only opportunity; the cream is made to offer pleasure in addition to protection, and if Hikaru wants both of you to feel good you won't argue.

 

For several seconds you hear your own breathing. Hikaru's footsteps return, followed by rustling cloth as he opens his trousers; then a sticky sound before he sets the little jar onto the floor. Warm breath whispers across the back of your neck, making tiny hairs there rise and prickle. “Ready?”

 

Anticipation steals your breath, so you nod and make enough sound for him to understand. Hikaru murmurs words to you as he rubs the cream over you and himself. Nothing coherent, just sweet, flattering little phrases meant to calm you.

 

Taking a breath, you manage an ungrammatical phrase. “I want you so bad.”

 

“You've _got_ me bad,” he replies, and slowly presses into you. With your palms still wet, you brace yourself on your forearms.

 

“Ohhh.”

 

He withdraws slightly. “Feel good, babe?” 

 

“Yes.” Tight muscles relax, and he enters you again, more smoothly. “Again. More.” 

 

“Mmm.” This time his voice pitches higher, sounding strained.

 

“Don't hold back, 'Karu.” Later you'll worry about proper forms for nicknames; at the moment he's not objecting. “I wish I could see you, but --”

 

“Want to turn around?”

 

“No. Don't stop.” Desire intensifies; now your palms feel dry enough to brace against the panel. Combined body heat and the melted cream make other places wet. When you rock your hips back to meet Hikaru he gasps. 

 

Mirrors would be too plain, but you're gratified to be able to see a faint reflection of your bodies on the panel's smooth, polished surface. Hikaru shrugs his suit jacket backwards off his shoulders; its buttons clatter against the floor. The cloth of his shirt is hot and damp. He yanks at his necktie. The safety release, a breakaway section designed to prevent use as a handhold in a fistfight, gives way. From the corner of your eye you see the strip of cloth go flying across the room. Both of you are moaning now. He doesn't just push into you, then retreat. Altering his movements, he thrusts, pulls back, then rotates his hips just enough to push you near the edge. 

 

Hikaru adjusts your positions – “spread your feet more, bend your knees --” and your head tilts back against him. His mouth descends on your neck for a love bite. As his teeth press down, your thighs quiver, and you're dizzy as you lean forward again, pressing your hands against the panel as he thrusts more quickly. It's exciting, but you want something impossible in this position, and cry out in frustration.

 

“You okay, babe?”

“I want your mouth. I want to see you.”

“You will.”

Supporting you with one arm, Hikaru reaches down around your hip with his free hand to further stimulate you. Just right, and too much. Coherent thoughts fade as sheer pleasure courses through your body, making you feel so giddy that you laugh. When you tighten around him, he goes rigid, moans, and lets go; you feel his muscles jerk as they tense and release. 

  
  


Both of your hands press against the wall, side by side. Clammy, damp shirt fabric moves against your bare back: Hikaru's taking deep breaths. 

“Mmm.” He slides out of you and begins to turn you around. “Oh, Cyme. My Cyme. I – Hey!” Just in time, he catches you as your legs go rubbery and you slump against him. Sounds escape from your throat in broken giggles and gasps, and you close your eyes to stop the room from spinning. 

“Take deep breaths and hang on to me.” Hikaru holds you up and tries to support your head with his shoulder.

 

“Shower...” Cold water may help.

 

“Wait. I'll get in the shower with you in case you pass out; you may hit your head. Come on, I'll put you on the bed while I get undressed.” Giving in, you lean against Hikaru and wobble towards the bedroom.

“Should I carry you?” he asks.

Now you can breathe normally again. “You're so kind, but no. I'll ruin your suit. I'm sweaty and messy.” You lean on the bed with both hands. 

“Babe, I can buy another suit; I've only got one of you.” Hikaru turns you around and lowers you onto the bed. “Lie back.” You close your eyes; when you open them, the room's steady and Hikaru, in his shirtsleeves now, is trying to give you water. “Drink.”

Rather than insist upon taking the glass from him so you can do it yourself, you rest your fingers along his wrist and let him help you. “Thank you.”

 

“Hyperventilated?”

“Yes. Excited. Maybe you’re _too_ good at what you do.”

Relieved, he smiles. “I'm only that good when I'm strongly motivated. Acting out your fantasy was...highly stimulating.”

“Oh, so now it's _my_ fantasy, eh? All I specified was the suit-wearing. The position was your idea.”

Hikaru laughs. “I'm not usually adventurous. Most of the time I just like some foreplay and then get right down to it.”

“I like _everything_ with you for some reason. Cuddling with you last night felt so good.” 

“We should do more of it.” There are several types of kisses in Hikaru's arsenal; this one's sweet, slow and makes you smile when he pulls away. 

  
  


“I like you, Longlegs.” 

  
  


“I like you, too, Handsome. Shower with me?”

  
  


“Sure.” Taking a few steps back, Hikaru undresses. Simple actions of unbuttoning a shirt and removing his trousers become alluring when he does them. Quickly you realize that he's teasing you, and you smile as you enjoy the show.

“Watching you do that sparks new fantasies,” you say as Hikaru slowly pulls down his dark gray knit boxers, his back partially turned so that he can show off his ass. 

“Oh, yeah?” Curious, he looks at you over his shoulder. 

“If I buy you some really cheap, flimsy boxers, will you let me tear them off you? Please?”

“Babe! I'm shocked.” He pulls the boxers back up, looking amused and flattered, and turns around. “Do all farm colonies grow hedonists? They do say you have to watch out for the shy ones. I gotta step up my workout game and develop enough stamina to satisfy your voracious appetite,” he jokes. “Of _course_ I'll let you tear my clothes off. Want me to return the favor?”

  
  


“Please do! Somehow you make me want everything. When I'm with you, I almost feel like I already have it.”

  
  


“Almost?” Clasping both of your hands in his, he helps you stand up. Silently he rests his forehead against yours; both of you stand with eyes closed, noses touching. Then he sighs – not a sad sound, but something else – and walks to the bathroom, supporting you with one arm. With the dizziness gone, you don't really need it any longer but you let him guide you anyway. 

  
  


For much of your life before Starfleet you took charge, took care, did the work, led the way. As you massage shampoo into Hikaru's thick hair and he soaps and rubs the muscles of your back, you think about how good it feels take care of someone who likes taking care of you. For that, a person might risk everything. 

Later, you lie together in bed with the curtains open and your heads at the foot of the bed so that you can see each other in the moonlight while you talk about anything that comes to mind. Sleep would make more sense, but too soon you'll be back aboard the _Enterprise_ , on your way to the mission of intervention at Spadix. One or both of you may not return to the ship from Spadix alive, or capable of speech. So you talk late into the night and enjoy each others' voices while you can, knowing you'll both be drowsy at breakfast and tired after combat practice. 

Hikaru asks something you wish he wouldn't. “Do you want revenge?”

For the first time in several minutes, you can't meet his eyes. “Customs of my people on Spadix require that I grow past such desires. Seeking revenge wounds the soul.”

“But you _have_ thought about it.” His hand caresses your shoulder, finds tension there, tries to rub it away.

“Spadix was controlled by groups too big for me to fight as one person; I won't exploit Starfleet's power just so that I can abuse SecForce members like they did us farmers and colonists. I'll never be as cruel as they were.”

In the dim light, Hikaru's expression is serious. “I may be your commanding officer if you're called to the planet surface.”

“Then I hope you'll order crew to stun me and beam me into the brig if my noble moral aspirations fail and I risk our team's safety by disobeying mission orders, trying to get even with them.”

When he responds you hear a touch of his stern officer's voice. “Of course I will, even if I have to point the phaser at you myself. I don't expect that I'll have to do it. You've got good self-control and I believe you're tough enough to get through this.”

This time you reach for his shoulders to massage tension away. “It would take the rest of the night to explain the whole spiritual struggle part of it, but – hatred and revenge would poison me. I'd never be a complete person. ”

“Unfocused rage results in sloppy combat.” Hikaru relaxes under the steady motion of your hands.

“No rage from me. I've got more reasons for survival now...like you. Maybe I should have paid more attention when you flirted with me months ago. We might have been like this sooner.”

 

“Aw, Longlegs. Don't worry about what could have been. Earnest types like you don't always notice subtle flirting. I was careful because I I didn't want to ruin my chances with you.”

“Now you've gotten what you want.”

“Your wanting matters too. And no, I haven't got what I really want from you yet, even if that sounds selfish.”

 

“So what is it you want from me?”  
  


“You'll find out.” Moonlight casts silvery light over his nicely muscled arm as he punches his pillow into shape, then pulls you close to him. “Better sleep now, so we can make the most of our last day here.”

* * *

 

Thank you for reading! Please take a moment to post a review or comment. Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet or Star Trek; all other written and conceptual content is mine. 


	18. Vulnerabilities

**It's Not the Liquor Talking**   
**Chapter 18: Vulnerabilities**

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or the character of Hikaru Sulu. Warnings this chapter: sexual interaction, long chapter.

* * *

 

Although he's usually open with you about his feelings and opinions, there are times when Hikaru hides his thoughts like the petals of a tightly budded flower and unfurls them cautiously. He sends you to sleep with an unanswered question and awakens you with sleepy kisses on your neck and shoulder. Light stubble on his cheeks scratches pleasantly against your skin, making you moan happily.

“Good morning, Longlegs,” he says in a low voice, still raspy with sleep.

“A good morning to you, too, 'Karu.” Beneath the sheet, you stroke the back of his hand where it rests on your belly. Wanting more of him, you roll over so that you can hold him and stroke his back.

“Mmm.” Hikaru snuggles closer, parting your thighs, pinning you down with his weight and resting his head on your torso. When you massage his scalp through his thick hair, he almost purrs. “ _Ohhh_. Babe, that's _good_. Thank you.”

“Sulu the fearless starship pilot likes to be petted and spoiled, eh?”

“Yes, spoiled by _you_.”

A smile spreads across your face even though he can't see it. “ 'Karu, you feel like a big, warm cat – ooh, you're even kneading me with your claws,” you tease as he squeezes your thigh.

“My claws retract for you, Cyme,” he murmurs, and kisses your neck. This could lead somewhere delightful, but it's your last full day on planet and responsibilities await both of you.

“Ah. You're so good to me, but shouldn't we get up now? Combat review and sparring practice at eight hundred hours.”

“Mmm. Five more minutes, babe.” His deep sigh blows warm air across your skin. “Just keep touching me... _please_.”

Listening to the distant sounds of the town's early morning noises – crews of fishing boats shouting and ringing bells as they return with an early catch, the soft whoosh of hoverbikes and other vehicle traffic - you continue the massage until your hand begins to cramp, and you reluctantly suggest that you both sit up.

Hikaru agrees to your suggestion of tea from the bedside replicator. Both of you sit drinking from the small cups. “Did you sleep all right, handsome?”

“Yes. No nightmares.”

Relieved, you put down your tea and touch Hikaru's face. “A peaceful night? Oh, I'm so glad, sweetie.” Recklessly, you speak the endearment aloud while he's fully awake. It had to escape sometime, considering how much you've been thinking it for two days.  
  
In the soft dawn light Hikaru's expression is open and trusting, and your use of the endearment draws a smile from him. “All I did was sleep and feel you next to me.” The fingers of his free hand curl around yours. “How about you?”

“Dreamed about the farm on Spadix a little.”

He frowns, puts the tea aside, touches your face. “Was it bad?”

Maybe he assumes that others have combat nightmares as fearsome as his own. “No, I just...saw things. Crops, empty roads near my family's farm house, no people.”

The faint line between Hikaru's eyebrows deepens. “Cyme, you need to tell me if this mission's difficult for you. No need to feel embarrassed. Even if you change your mind ten minutes before beaming down, tell me and I'll pull you off the away team and work things out with Kirk later. Most Starfleet crew don't find themselves trying to save their home planets while on duty.”

“Officer Spock did. Vulcan's destruction was horrible – I felt terrible for him and everyone who suffered, but he really did...'perform admirably'.”

Hikaru shakes his head. “Most of the crew – aside from Nyota – only sees and hears so much; Spock's a proud man. The Federation's still seeing the tragic repercussions of Vulcan's destruction. It's never really going to be over. You've told me things about the occupation of Spadix that make it clear you haven't forgotten how the local people were abused. I admit it, I'm concerned about how that's going to affect you. An emotionally compromised crew member may make errors in judgment.”

“Maybe I can't control my emotions as well as someone from Vulcan culture, but I know how to focus on a mission. I survived years living under the SecForces' oppressive laws and their twisted attitudes. If I stun one of 'em with a phase, I won't kick 'em when they're down.”

“I'm not comparing you to Spock, and I'm not saying you're going to try to avenge yourself,” Hikaru says calmly. “No offense meant.”

“All right. None taken.”

“Cyme, you're professional; I get that, but things can go wrong under pressure. Neither one of us is perfect or invincible. Use caution so that we don't lose this chance at...whatever we have. Promise?”

“Yes, I promise. And thank you.” Feeling a rush of affection, you look into his dark eyes and again speak unguardedly. “How good you are.”

His face and chest darken with a blush. “Aw, I'm no angel, but I try.”

Tracing the spread of the blush with your fingers, you outline one pectoral muscle, then the other. Under your touch, his heartbeat increases, his flat nipples harden, his breathing quickens, and your own body responds as you think about what you'd like him to do with you. But --

“Maybe we'd better get out of this bed now. Schedule.” As you pull your hand back, Hikaru clasps your wrist with one strong hand.

“There's more than an hour before combat training. Stay.” His expression hovers between teasing and serious.

“What about discipline, Mr. Sulu? Administrative messages, breakfast? ” Kneeling, you pretend to try to wrestle him out of bed.

“Discipline? I'll show you discipline, _akkan_.” One hand claps your shoulder, the other your hip. Somehow he flips you onto your back without hurting you. Playfully, Hikaru lets you grapple with him, making mock sounds of pain and pretending to submit before slipping free from your hold.

It's only when you've got him stretched out, face down as you straddle him and hold one arm behind his back, that his body tenses, then shivers. _Hmm_. Maybe you'll explore his response when you've got more time, later tonight. But now...

“Ooh, 'Karu. So many pretty moles on your back.” Moving over the warm expanse of his skin, you touch some, kiss some. “I've spent so much time _under_ my superior officer that I haven't been able to enjoy this view much, but you look very good from behind, Sir.” Pausing near the base of his spine, you kiss a particularly large mole.

“I think you found my 'Spot',” he says.

Somehow you know he doesn't mean a particularly sensitive area. “Did you have this 'Spot', this mark, when you were born? Did it look a little blue?”

Angling his body so that he can look back over his shoulder, Hikaru looks at you curiously. “Yes to both questions. So you know about that, about having 'the Spot'? People talk about that on Spadix?”

“Yeah, why not? All kinds of different-looking humans lived on Spadix, like most colonial farm planets made up of Earth emigrants. In small towns you overhear parents talking at town gatherings, and see babies and their birthmarks. During summer boys and men swam in the river, and I saw birthmarks, scars from farm accidents...anyway, you're not the first Asian man I've ever seen without his shirt on.”

Turning onto his side and leaning on an elbow, he raises an eyebrow. “How closely were you looking at those guys?”

You wink back. “Not as closely as I look at you, handsome.”

“Diplomat,” Hikaru says dryly, making you laugh before you continue.

“Here's the one reason why people pay attention to birthmarks on Spadix. During the early days of occupation, the SecForce invaders conducted forced physical examinations, trying to pick out the strongest workers on farms. They weren't used to such a wide variety of people, and sometimes they'd say that Spadixian mothers were uncivilized, that they abused their own babies, because they thought the birthmarks looked like bruises. Nobody in the SecForces listened when the mothers tried to explain that such birthmarks were a common trait. It took 'em a while to understand that many of us colonists were born with those birthmarks on the lower back. So yeah, I learned about 'the Spot'.”

“Quite a misinterpretation. It's interesting that you even noticed that on me.”

“Hikaru, I like paying attention to you. I'm kinda sensitive, so I won't ask how many other people have touched your birthmark.”

“I'm only interested in you touching it now. Know something? In Japanese culture sometimes people say you have a 'blue butt' , _shiri ga aoi,_ like a baby with birthmarks that haven't faded yet,if you're being immature or naïve.”

“Nothing naïve about you, handsome. And your butt's not blue.” You caress and squeeze. “It's so fine and tight though.”

Leaning forward, you kiss the back of his neck below the neatly trimmed line of his hair. “How warm you feel. It's nice being on top of you. Different –“ you gently bite his shoulder – “but nice.”

Shuddering in response, Hikaru murmurs, “Do that again. Please.”

This time he moans as you sink your teeth into his neck. “Mmm. Cyme.”

Hikaru doesn't resist when you turn him onto his side so that you can stroke his chest and look down at his face. You stretch your body out along his, rocking your hips against his ass, enjoying the friction between your bare skins.

“No. Stay there,” you command as Hikaru begins to turn over. He stays put, breathing loudly as you touch his side, then the front of his body, then move down so that his hot, hard length fills your hand.

“ _Ahh_.” The bed moves beneath you as his hips follow the rhythm of your strokes. “I thought we were gonna get out of bed, be responsible.”

“Let me do this first,” you whisper. Hikaru groans when you bite him again.

“Ohhh. Babe, you make me feel wild. Let me touch you. I want my turn with you.”

“You'll get it later, handsome. Do you need control so much that you won't let me do this for you?” Latching one leg atop his thigh, you turn him onto his back, and straddle one of his muscular thighs. The little jar of the mysterious, not quite contraband cream sits on the nightstand; you scoop out a little, and soon it's melting from your body heat, making your fingers slippery on Hikaru's shaft and his sac.

“ _Ohh_...Cyme, your _hands_...” All of Hikaru's next words are moans.

As his hands wander over you, and your hands continue to move on him, Hikaru grows even harder, responding to your steady strokes, gasping until he releases a loud groan and wet, sticky heat spills over your fingers. To your surprise you feel satisfied just seeing it happen, stimulated by his responses and the feeling of his skin where you straddle him. Heart pounding, you lie down beside him while he catches his breath.

“I came so fast,” he says, his voice husky. “Sorry.”

“'Karu, you don't sound very apologetic and I'm not sorry either. I'm glad you liked it.” With an audible _smack_ you place a kiss in the little dip between his clavicles and sit up. Hikaru watches you.

“Feeling okay?” If only your voice didn't sound so uncertain.

He pulls you close for a soft, hot kiss, but his expression's still unreadable when he pulls away. “Cyme, I need to give you more.”

“Don't feel obligated. We don't have time now, and I'd want more than a quickie. I feel fine. I liked being able to touch you that way.”

“That's not what I mean.” The earnest expression on his face makes him seem innocent, almost dreamy. “Let me court you, spoil you...slow things down. I want to take you out tonight, make you feel special...be different with you.”

Surprised, you open your mouth to respond, _But you already do those things_ , then close it and nod. “All right. I'd like that.”

Being desired is good, but he knows you'd welcome more.

What _does_ he want?  
…

  
After you're washed and dressed, you heat water for more tea and set it atop a warming panel to maintain its temperature. Exploring the replicator and food storage units, you find enough food to assemble a basic, nutritious breakfast. At least a dozen small restaurants surround the hotel but you want the pleasure of one last morning of mock domesticity with Hikaru before you both join _Enterprise_ colleagues for a busy day of team bonding activities and mission preparation.

Less than a week has passed since you prayed in even a semi-formal way – your scattered, silent, anxious entreaties could be called different types of prayer, or calls for help. You feel oddly disconnected from the world around you as well as your own self when you neglect the world of spirits for too long. While Hikaru prepares for the day, you take advantage of the quiet time.

With a small glass of water placed on a table near the balcony doors in the central room of the suite, you begin. First kneeling, you recite the words meant to help you calm yourself for morning prayer. Next you stand and sing a series of short prayers for people near and far, mentioning wishes for their ability to make wise decisions and for their health, safety and happiness. Although the ways of the planet you're now visiting are not completely known to you, you sing a phrase for the health of its people, lands, and animals. After each group of appeals, you sing the refrain: _May the greatest strength be the strength of love_. Finally you sing gratitude for Hikaru's presence in your life and make an appeal for his safety.

Calm settles over you after the seven minutes you take to sing the prayers. Taking a deep, relaxed breath and lowering your hands, you fully open the balcony doors, and cast the water over the railing, back into the broader world. If you weren't in a multi-storey hotel, you would pour the water over a garden or household plant instead; during a drought you would drink it.

“I heard you sing my name.”

Fully dressed, Hikaru stands at the edge of the sunlight spilling into the room.

“How long were you there?”

“Just a few minutes. I didn't mean to invade your privacy but...it sounded nice. I understood some of the Standard words in between the other languages. Will you please tell me about it? Can you tell me?”

“Sure, none of our religious practices are secret. Come eat on the balcony.”

While both you eat and drink, you describe the basic tenets of the faith – like many colonial faiths, it contains aspects of more than one Earth religion – to Hikaru and learn that some of his family are Buddhist, others various converts, still others agnostics or atheists.

“All the singing was me praying,” you explain. “I didn't do it the other mornings I was here with you because I was...distracted. I don't mind that you listened.”

“Were you praying for me?”

“More praying about you, with an appeal for your safety in the mix.”

“Oh.” His face takes on a cautious expression. “Just wondering...have you, uh, sinned by being with me?”

“Not at all!” Smiling, you touch his arm. “On Spadix, sin is more about disturbing the well-being of a community. If we want to guarantee that our souls go straight to hell, we'd have to deliberately ruin crops, abuse or exploit people, waste food and water, steal somebody's pension. Cruelty is sin. Nobody really has much time to look into other folks' beds in a primarily agrarian economy like Spadix. Gossip exists, yes, but being physically intimate with someone who clearly wants me to touch them, and isn't bound by any personal restrictions...” you shrug.

“Understood,” Hikaru says wryly. He refills your cup, then his own. “Not drinking your usual side of coffee this morning?”

“I'm trying to be less self-indulgent.”

“Oh?” Hikaru cocks an eyebrow. “What else are you giving up, Longlegs?”

Winking back at him, you stroke the soft inside part of his elbow. “Not _you_.”

“Good.” Beneath the table, he strokes his toes along the bare arch of your foot. Some hint of desire shows in his expression, but his shoulders already hold the squared, on-duty posture you're accustomed to. Simultaneously your communicators beep, signaling the end of private time. Both of you stand and begin to gather the tea cups and breakfast dishes.

“It's nice beginning the day with you,” you sigh. “I'll miss this when we're aboard the _Enterprise_ again.”

Hikaru's tone is neutral. “Maybe we'll talk about it once we get back.”

...

_**At the local Federation Training Gym** _

  
During the past hour, you've stretched, tried a few yoga postures, done push-ups, played catch with crewmates using a heavy ball, and tried a few weight-bearing exercises with hand weights. Sweat veils your bare arms and trickles down your spine; your muscles feel warm. Despite your efforts, your lower back and hips are still sore from the previous evening's and this morning's activities. Pressing the heels of your hands into your lower back, you try to banish the lingering ache. No luck.

Hikaru, who has been making a rotation of the gym and confirming mission roles with other crewmates, watches you rub your back; his eyebrows lift as he realizes something and approaches you.

“Cyme.” He lowers his voice amid the low buzz of voices and sounds of exercise equipment. “Babe, did I hurt you last night?”

“No, I'm just a bit sore, no surprise. It'll pass.”

Wincing, he blushes. “I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to be so rough.”

“Enthusiastic' may be more accurate.”

“Let me help you – I can rub you down if we go over there –“

He's already reaching for a tube of topical painkiller on a nearby shelf, but you stop him with a look. “Thanks, but I'd rather not have every crewmate here see us go into a private room together while you've got a tube of cream in your hand. We'd never hear the end of it. I'll tough it out.”

Impatiently, he crosses his arms, causing the black fabric of his T-shirt to pull across his chest. “No. I'll ask Dr. McCoy for a hypospray so that you can get through this required combat training session.”

“Don't you _command_ me, 'Karu. I'm not too keen on Dr. McCoy knowing how I got sore muscles before combat practice has even begun!”

A corner of Hikaru's mouth quirks upward. “Longlegs, McCoy's seen crewmates come back from shore leave on the most notorious pleasure planets in the known systems. A sore back won't even make him roll his eyes. Maybe he can treat those bite marks you left on me this morning after he's done with you.”

Heat floods your face as you blink at the faint, but unmistakeable marks visible above the collar of his T-shirt. “Please say you're joking.”

“I am! As your superior officer on duty I could exercise my authority with regard to the hypospray, but let's not do that.” His voice takes on a persuasive tone you've heard before; it melts your resistance like the warmth of the first spring thaw. “Let me help you, baby. Let me make you feel better.”

“Fine, 'Karu. I'll take the hypospray,” you hear yourself say as you gaze into his deep brown eyes. Hikaru looks away long enough to make eye contact with Dr. McCoy, then smiles back at you while the ship's doctor walks over. Although you've already warmed up, your body feels even looser and warmer.

“Good morning, Doctor,” you say politely, aware that he's already examining you with a professional visual sweep. “I've, uh, got a bit of lower back and upper thigh muscle soreness, wondered if I might have a mild hypospray to help with it.” Somehow you manage to keep your voice steady; you've never asked Dr. McCoy for this sort of thing.

Dr. McCoy doesn't even raise an eyebrow. “Of course, Ensign Cyme, no problem.” He moves the medical scanner over you, interprets the results on its small display, and nods. “Seems like I'm handing out back and thigh hypos like party favors this morning. Not unusual at the end of an away mission. Lift your shirt in back, please, this oughta be quick and relatively painless. Turn down the waist of your sweatpants, on this side, now that side – and it's done, no need to undress or explain.”

Hikaru gives you a small, reassuring smile, then blinks as the doctor moves the scanner over his neck.

“Sulu! These marks are fresh, ain't they?” asks McCoy with only a slight tilt of one eyebrow. “Want bruise treatment on 'em?”

“Uh, I'll leave them for now, Doc, but yes, I'd like to treat them before I go back on the bridge, please.” Passion marks are one thing during an away mission with periods of leave, but quite a different matter in a professional setting aboard a starship.

Unfortunately the floor of the gym does not open to allow you to sink away from Dr. McCoy's scrutiny, but he only says: “The human jaw is capable of exerting 47.8 kilograms of force per square centimeter; that's way beyond a love bite, of course. Cyme, you'll feel the effects of that anti-inflammatory within sixty seconds. Let me know if you experience any ill effects.” With a wink, Dr. McCoy moves on to another crewmate, who is also rubbing a sore lower back.

“Seems like _everybody_ was busy last night,” Hikaru mutters. “Oh, well. I don't regret the hickey necklace you gave me.”

“Next time I'm going to bite you someplace usually covered by clothes, like your ass.”

“That a promise?” Hikaru grins, and both of you stride onto the floor to begin your combat practice routines.

Rank temporarily disappears as crewmates practice first unarmed, then armed combat method, readying themselves for potential challenges. Crewmates spar in pairs, in trios, in quads across divisions: defending, deflecting, always with an option to deescalate or move out of range. Between rounds you talk with your crewmates, trying to provide any information about Spadix that might help them be better prepared.

The small world you previously occupied within Starfleet has changed with crewmates' awareness of Hikaru's interest in you. Friendships have survived, hierarchies have subtly shifted. Two higher-ranking officers who barely noticed you before respond verbally to you now. They approach Sulu with a new sense of caution, their eyes darting towards you, then away as they avoid the obvious questions: _How did Sulu...Why would Sulu choose_...The sound of your name reaches your ear despite the noise in the gym.

“-- nice legs, but c'mon, Sulu: Cyme's neither bridge crew nor from a diplomatic background. You're still Lieutenant Sulu; want to be _Captain_ Sulu? Hell, even a bureaucrat from Federation administration would give you better connections.”

“Exactly when did I ask for your opinion?”

“Listen, Sulu. Your tough little peasant's attractive, but – “

“ _Peasant_?”

“Sulu, get real. Cyme's rags-to-riches background sounds good for Starfleet diplomacy, and so does this mission of mercy to Spadix-12. But do you really want the earnest, wholesome type? Get yourself somebody with some edge.”

Hikaru's tone takes on an arctic chill. “What happened to the notion of equality in Starfleet? Call me idealistic, but that's one of the reasons I joined, and why I'm committed to the Federation. I know enough about Cyme's connections to suit me. The respect and loyalty of colleagues – that means something. Maybe peasants know something about getting along with people. Are you done? Because I sure am – ”

Keeping your face carefully expressionless – something you learned to do while living under the SecForces regime -- you avoid looking at either of them and return your attention to training. All of you trust each other because you must. In a crisis, you'll try to save their lives and hope that they'll try to save yours. Gossip traded inside or outside the Officers' Mess...it's beyond your control.

During your break you applaud Captain Kirk as he turns a backflip during an evasive combat routine. As you head to the water cooler, you cross paths with Groen/Green, the crewmate who made a pass at you earlier. His correct surname is actually _Green_ , as you see it spelled on the Starfleet workout uniform shirt.

“Hi, Green...”

“Yeah, Cyme?” the response comes cautiously.

“I'm sorry I was sort of short and rude with you yesterday when you made that comment about me and Lt. Sulu. I didn't like being asked such a personal question but I should have dealt with it directly.”

A slow blink, and an incredulous stare. “You're apologizing to _me_? I asked _you_ about seeing Sulu naked.”

“Green, I may not like your sense of humor but I understand that your idea of what's appropriate differs from mine. We've got to work together. I'd rather get any awkward stuff out of the way before the mission to Spadix begins.”

Green eyes you apprehensively. “Huh. You're an odd one, Cyme. Sulu got to you faster than I did. Good luck to him, 'cause I'm not sure that I'd _ever_ understand you. No problem, all right? On the mission we're all crewmates.” The two of you exchange nods and walk away.

Hikaru calls you over to an empty corner of the gym. “Here. I want you to understand how the katana should be used.”

Standing behind you, Hikaru places a slightly curved cylinder in your palm and places his arm beneath yours. In its closed state, the modified weapon looks nothing like the ancient Japanese swords.

“It's beautiful.” The katana handle's dark gray surface is textured by deep grooved patterns to make it easier to grip. When you open and close your fingers around it you realize that its weight and shape are meant to fit an individual user. Its cost obviously goes far beyond currency.

“Who made this for you?” you ask, awestruck.

Hikaru guides your arms so that you cradle the katana in both hands. “Sword artisan and his daughter in New Nagoya. They live out on an artificial peninsula – new landform, old traditions blended with new tech, built to suit. I spent three weeks with them testing prototype swords and training with them and their apprentices, and left with two katana made for my height and body type. I carry this one with me, and the other's back in storage on Earth. Touch here.”

Hikaru's strong hand covers yours and firmly presses two of your fingers down into ovals that appear to be part of the design. A slight recoil vibrates up your arms as gleaming silver metal sections move themselves out into a full blade, and you gasp.

“Ooh. Very nice.” Deadly as the sword is, you aren't scared of it. It seems an extension of Hikaru, of the warrior spirit you sense in him. He drops his arms and steps away, circling around you as he calls out directions.

“Hold it in both hands, like this. Now face away from me, try moving it as though you were going to strike – do it slowly, because this sword isn't balanced for you, but you could learn to manage it. Shift your weight further back, over your hips; use the power at the center of your body to drive an attack. Think about which areas of your body are exposed when you hold a sword; be careful.”

For several minutes Hikaru coaches you, suggesting ways to feint, advance, and block, then calls for a break. Pressing the hidden release on the handle, you retract the blade.

“Not bad for the first time,” Hikaru says as you hand the closed weapon back to him.

“Would you consider training me? Please?”

For a long moment he's quiet, watching you with an expression that you can't quite read. “I've never trained anyone how to use it before. I let Spock hold it once, because he was curious and found it so different from Vulcan weapons. But nobody except you has practiced with it.”

“Why trust me?”

“If we're ever on an away mission together and something happens to me, I want you to at least know how to unsheath it. It was made to fit my hands, but now I've shown you how to press the release and compensate for the way it's balanced. Cyme, I could take you to get your own katana made, if...”

Hikaru blushes, hesitates. “Let's go get some water.” With a soft _click_ he clips the weapon back onto his belt.

* * *

 

 _Akkan_ = Japanese. Translation: “villain”, but also “the best part”.


	19. Out in the Open

**It's Not the Liquor Talking**

A Hikaru Sulu STXI fanfic

**Chapter 19: Out in the Open**

_Disclaimer: I don't own the character of Hikaru Sulu or the concept of Starfleet; all other written and conceptual content is mine._ _Warnings: long chapter._

God gives nothing to those who keep their arms crossed.

_West African proverb_

* * *

_**At the Hotel** _

_Suggested music:_ _Yasuharu Konishi, "2300 Hawaii";_ _Matic Horns, "North Star Horns"_

Group activities take up most of the remaining hours spent planetside. After combat practice and showers, you prepare to join _Enterprise_  crew for an afternoon on the beach, a last opportunity to relax on the shores of one of the seas of this planet.

" 'Karu, may I please borrow a T-shirt from you? Mine are still in the clothing refresher," you say as the two of you finish changing into swimsuits and prepare to join the group. You want to cover up your modest Starfleet-issue swimsuit with a shirt and loose pants while you're out of the water.

Hikaru's fingers brush yours as he hands you a neatly folded square of golden yellow fabric. "Here. It's from last season's shipboard combined sports team."

The shirt's loose enough to provide coverage, but bears the surname SULU across the back in large letters, which makes you laugh. "So much for not calling attention to us!"

"Aww, babe. Have you got a shirt with CYME on the back? No? If you did I'd wear it to keep things balanced."

"How sweet of you." Smiling, you caress one of his high cheekbones. "I'd be so flattered if you did."

So you walk through the hotel lobby with SULU across your shoulders, and join a group of your  _Enterprise crew mates_  All the while, you hold your head up, smile and greet people as though nothing about your attire is unusual. Dr. McCoy raises an eyebrow, responding to your greeting with "Mm-hm. Sure  _is_ a good afternoon, ain't it? Nice shirt, by the way."

While the  _Enterprise_ group waits for latecomers, Hikaru stands beside you and talks easily with your crew mates, gently touching your elbow when he wants to pull you further into a conversation or ask a question. A few times his hand rests on your shoulder, or idly strokes the nape of your neck. He's polite to the superior officer who advised that the trajectory from  _Enterprise_ helmsman to Starfleet Capetian can only be completed if Hikaru rejects you.

Although this man disdains you it's essential to treat him with courtesy. Stiff formality enters your voice but you greet the officer with your best manners, using his title when you speak. Despite your good intentions and the values you were taught, you struggle with your feelings of resentment. After the man (barely) acknowledges you, you exhale in relief and turn your attention to people who think better of you, knowing that you must try harder. Friendship with the man is unlikely but you cannot allow your feelings about him to twist into hostility.

While the group walks to the beach, Hikaru holds your hand. A few people stare, but that could be for any reason. Starfleet crew don't really look like other tourists. Casual beach clothing does not hide some things: trained, hard muscles; similar haircuts; and most revealing of all, an aware, observant demeanor.

At the beach, Captain Kirk says nothing about the shirt but asks you to join his team in a volleyball game. Excited by the opportunity to play in real gravity, you play hard and soon you're warm enough to remove the shirt. Hikaru does other things: he swims, chats with crew mates, tosses a Frisbee, wanders back to the volleyball game and cheers for you. Back at Starfleet Academy Hikaru always listened to you when you spoke, but over the past couple of days you've overheard him talking with crew mates:  _Cyme says..._ or  _The other day Cyme told me..._ Realizing that he thinks about what you say makes you happy and a little frightened.

Before Hikaru Sulu, there were others. A few vanished from your life after a single awkward date. One stayed for six months; another, for a year. Some of them were kind but distant, talking about themselves so much that you wondered if they remembered you were even near. Good listening is alarmingly seductive, leading you into the trap of daydreaming about a future with Hikaru.

Oddly, now that your involvement with the ship's helmsman is public knowledge, a few people who previously were merely friendly now stare at you in your swimsuit. Even after many years of contact with Federation life, you occasionally stumble over interpretation of certain cross-cultural cues. Some of the body language and facial expressions seem strange, not alluring. All you can do is try to politely deflect the attention.

"Am I just being self-conscious?" you ask when you join Hikaru under a sunshade for water and a break. "Or is this some sort of spaceship behavioral issue? Before, I was on good terms with most of my crew mates, even though they didn't notice me much. Now some of 'em behave like I'm a piece of juicy, ripe fruit and they're thirsty."

Small droplets of seawater glisten on Hikaru's bare shoulders, trickling down his chest when he shrugs. "Maybe some people had to see you 'taken' before realizing that you were ever accessible. Too bad for them now." He frowns, then looks deceptively calm. " I'm _not_  sharing you, Cyme. If somebody makes you uncomfortable, tell me."

"So far, I can handle it myself by ignoring it. But thank you." You touch your fingertip to a drop on his skin. "Would you like me to dry you off, 'Karu?"

Hikaru's face relaxes into a lazy, seductive smile as his voice pitches low. "You know I'd like it better if we got wet together."

"Handsome, only you get to use a corny line like that on me. How about I make you feel a little sticky instead?"

"Longlegs, you shock me!" He raises both eyebrows. "What mischief are you up to,  _akkan_? I'm interested."

Winking, you hold up a tube of sunblock, and he laughs. Maybe the stuff is old-fashioned – consumer science and nanotechnology provide other options – but it gives you an excuse to touch his bare skin in a safe, warm environment. The tension Hikaru holds in his shoulders eases as you rub them. Neither one of you talks for a while. Light breezes carry the sounds of surf, voices and bells on distant boats. Every bit of him feels good – strong or soft or smooth or intriguingly rough. You behave decently, resisting the temptation to move your fingers higher up on his thighs and under the edges of his swim trunks.

"Cyme...I want to give you a long massage to thank you. With oil," Hikaru murmurs.

"Ooh, sounds nice. Candles, too? That is, sometime when we're not in a contained space environment and have sufficient oxygen?"

Raising himself on an elbow, he lowers his voice and smiles at you. "Candles, music, a hot bath first...you just tell me what you want. There's a place on your thigh, high up on the inside. When I touch you or kiss you there...well, you're  _very_ responsive, Longlegs."

Despite the heat of the day, you shiver.

Hikaru grins. "Ah, you remember exactly. Want me to do it again?"

"Cocky," you scold, sealing the tube of sunscreen. "Behave yourself, Mr. Sulu, or I may have to take you into those trees to calm down."

"You tempt me, but it's too crowded here and I'd rather not have the local insect life on my private parts."

Dr. McCoy walks around the corner of the sunshade. " _What_  in the Sam Hill are y'all talking about?"

"Nothing, Bones." Hikaru grins. "It wasn't a call for help."

"Mm-hm. Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, Sulu. A second volleyball game's starting, and I need a team. Feel like playing, or should I leave y'all to flirt?"

Both of you agree to play. The afternoon glides by pleasantly, with swimming and friendly conversations with crew mates Later, you and Hikaru discuss the plant database you want to work on together, sketching outlines of taxonomies in the sand.

"'Karu, let me go on a tangent, eh? If we're going to present practical plant information in an app for travelers to known planets, we'd need to include a ' _works like these_ ' section. For example, say that I know that willow bark on Earth can be steeped in hot water to treat headaches; maybe I even used willow bark myself, made my own preparations sometimes. So if I'm traveling to...oh, New Vulcan for example, I won't find willow trees, but I want to make my own preparation instead of using a hypospray – maybe for cultural or religious reasons. Seeking an answer, I will tap on the 'works like these' section to look up near equivalents, knowing that I'll also see notes and warnings. Or maybe I want to find nut shells like the ones people use to make cloth dyes on Spadix, so I move my finger here like this..." you draw a line in the sand, "...to bring up only that ' _works like these_ ' section related to fabric dyes. Maybe also types of plant fibers to spin. Thus, the plant database becomes appealing to more different types of users..."

Hikaru picks up the thread of your idea: "- supporting planetary settlement efforts and helping space travelers thrive in new surroundings. Hmm. Nice, Cyme. I was thinking about general users, too. I like this." Hikaru pulls his communicator from his folded pants pocket and records images of the sand sketches, adding notes. "Let's plan to work on this more after we're back aboard." He stretches, stifling a yawn.

"Drowsy? Take a nap."

"Can't sleep in a public place like this."

"'Karu, you're surrounded by Starfleet crew and what seem like responsible local citizens. I'll stand guard. Sleep."

Surprisingly, he does. Perhaps it's a sign of how comfortable he feels in this environment, or with you. With the soothing sound of the waves in your ears, you gaze out at the water and let your thoughts wander until Hikaru stretches, yawns, and smiles up at you. "So, you were right. That did help. I'm going back into the sea now."

"Missed the beach, didn't you, California guy? I'll see you later."

While Hikaru's in the water you help crew mates and a few amiable locals build a sprawling sand castle, everyone adding architectural features of the kind most familiar in their homelands. After forming a round granary tower at one side of the castle you step aside to watch and enjoy the feeling of the warm sun. With your thoughts wandering, you don't hear the officer approach until too late.

"Ensign Cyme. What would it take for you to give Sulu up?"

Startled, you turn around. "Pardon, Sir?"

"Desire confuses people," the officer says. "Situations like yours don't always last."

But you aren't confused at all about Hikaru. Every time you express your desire and affection for him through physical acts, your thoughts are clear. Of course the pleasure you feel with Hikaru isn't simply physical - it hasn't been for days now, if indeed it ever was - but you cannot explain that to someone who doesn't want to listen.

"Permission to speak freely requested, sir." Your voice doesn't shake but your hands do, and you hold them at your sides in the hope that he won't see.

"You need to answer my question."

"Sir, I hope that you never have to learn some of the things about life that I have. I wouldn't wish those things on anyone, ordinary foe or blood-sworn enemy. All your life you've been treated like a human being – a full humanoid – not some sort of animal, haven't you, Sir? Ever gone to bed hungry because your family was paid a little scrap of money to labor in hot sun or cold all day? Or had someone call you lazy and dirty in one breath, then threaten to burn down your home and beat you in the next because your family earned too much and they think you've forgotten your 'place'?"

By now the officer's staring at you open-mouthed and Captain Kirk, on his way to the water, has paused to listen. Risky as it is, you can't stop the words from spilling out and your planetary colonist's accent flavors your speech.

"Tell me, something else, Sir. Y'ever said good morning to a member of an occupying force on your home planet and had 'em sneer or spit in your face in return? Or gone to labor at their place and been given spoiled food to eat? Been suspected of stealing the minute you walk into a market or shop? Have y'ever been treated like you're stupid,  _told_ you're stupid because someone else thinks they know what you and all those from your colony  _really_  are even though they won't speak with you? Maybe if you had, then you'd understand why I honor and serve the Federation, and why I like Starfleet people;  _most_ of us don't behave in such ways."

Stiffly, he responds. "I am loyal to the Federation myself, but the things you describe have nothing to do with your  _personal_  involvement with Lt. Sulu."

"To the contrary, Sir, it does. Mr. Sulu is a fine example of a Starfleet officer and he treats me with consideration and respect. Speaking for others isn't something I do but I doubt I'm wrong to say that Mr. Sulu values equality, kindness and justice. I wouldn't want 'personal involvement' with anyone who didn't care about such things."

"There's more to this than there appears to be – is that true, Ensign?"

"Respectfully, I prefer to maintain privacy regarding my personal affairs. I'd never do anything to harm the  _Enterprise_ or my crewmates. I will request a meeting with the Captain and a personnel committee if you think it is necessary to discuss this further." Glancing over the officer's shoulder, you tilt your head towards Captain Kirk, who stands with arms folded.

Kirk's voice is flat, lacking its usual charming expressiveness. "I've already spoken with both of them, Rob. A meeting isn't necessary; not with Cyme and Sulu, anyway. Perhaps I need to meet with  _you_ instead. Is there a problem?"

"No problem at all, Captain Kirk." The officer nods at you curtly. "Your choice, Ensign, but remember what I said."

"Goodbye, Sir," you say to his back.

Kirk approaches you. "Listen, Cyme, I understand the cultural importance of  privacy but just tell me. Is there some real crisis here?"

"None that I made, Captain."

Kirk waits, allowing you time to spill your frustrations, but you don't. "All right. Please speak with me privately if you have any further problems; I want a unified  _Enterprise_ crew. Never think that you can't ask for help."

"Captain, I've tried to be part of the team since my first day aboard. I cannot change the way I grew up, but I learned much from it."

"True for many of us. Hell, it's true for  _me_. Excuse me, I'm going to have a word with that officer."

Kirk leaves and your hands finally stop shaking. Wanting to clear your thoughts, you walk to the edge of the water. Hikaru's in the water some distance away, swimming a few strokes, then letting the waves carry him before he goes back out again. When he stands in shallow water his bare back gleams in the sun. He seems like an elusive treasure revealed by the sea, something you must struggle to keep.

…

_**Later, back in town at the hotel** _

_Suggested music:_ _Duke Ellington Orchestra, "Isfahan" (Far East Suite)_

The day's scheduled camaraderie prevents you and Hikaru from dining alone; you put on your best clothes to join the Captain, crew, and local Federation officials for the last scheduled Federation event. Hikaru wears his best suit again. The other suit – the one he wore when he took you deep into your fantasy last night – is in the hotel's clothing refresher, where the machine efficiently steams and sanitizes away the traces of your physical connection.

How easily small habits form! After he's dressed, Hikaru presents himself to you to have his dark necktie and crisp shirt collar adjusted. He's trim and handsome, his sleek black hair arcing in an elegant curve. "Ooh, I'm swooning! You look absolutely splendid, Mr. Sulu."

"It's the best I can do to accompany my stunningly attractive companion. Suits get you excited, Longlegs, but when I see you dressed up, looking the way you do tonight, my heart beats faster too. Don't look so skeptical. Feel that?" He presses one of your hands over the steady  _thump_. "Okay, so maybe it isn't rapid, but if it's slow it's because I'm thinking about doing something slow and sweet with you."

"Oh, you charmer. How can I resist you?" His necktie's as straight as a Federation-approved measurement device but Hikaru looks pleased when you fuss with it anyway. A dreamy smile spreads across his face while you move your hands over his vest and jacket and brush nonexistent stray hairs away from his neck above his collar. For a long moment you look at each other, falling into a little world within a world. Then he takes your hand.

"We shouldn't be late," you say, wishing that he would hold your hand and lead you somewhere other than an official Federation meet-and-greet.

"Babe, I wish that we could be." Leaning forward, he touches his nose to yours, and pulls away with a sigh. "Of course protocol waits for no one."

It's a busy night in the hotel, and the elevator stops several times as groups of party goers travel to banqueting rooms on various floors. Each time the door slides open and the other people exit, Hikaru leans forward for a kiss. By the time you reach the lobby you're a little bit dazed.

...

_**Inside the local Federation Headquarters** _

Dinner at the Federation event involves dozens of delicious, complicated foods on small plates, some of it cooked on small tableside grills. Lanterns create a romantic atmosphere – but all of you are still at work among colleagues in a setting that isn't purely social. Warm, strong pilot's fingers close over your hand, or gently guide you by the elbow as you circulate around the room.

"Lieutenant Sulu, I don't believe I've met your...intriguing...companion." A vaguely familiar-looking Federation official – he made some speeches at Starfleet Academy in San Francisco – approaches, looking you up and down, one hand outstretched. Immediately your body stiffens and you know that Hikaru feels it.

Calmly, Hikaru rests a hand on the small of your back, squares his shoulders and takes a half step forward, so that the Federation Official nearly has to reach past him to shake your hand. It's a small, possessive gesture.

"How do you do, Sir? Ensign Cyme," you say, keeping the handshake brief. Body language and cultural approaches differ, and you don't want to make assumptions about the man's motives. Daring a glance at Hikaru's face, you see that his expression is neutral but he maintains steady eye contact, barely blinking.  _Hmm._

The three of you manage a few minutes of civil conversation, during which Hikaru says things like  _We saw...We did..._  or  _Ensign Cyme joined me in observing..._  and finally  _Cyme and I had a fine breakfast outdoors this morning._ At last the other man gets the message and moves on, but not before mentioning his private villa on a planetoid famed for its snowy mountains and sports culture. "Twelve fine guest rooms and a spa! Do visit, Ensign Cyme, should you ever find yourself on shore leave in that sector. Uh, you too, Lieutenant Sulu," he adds when he notices Hikaru's stony expression. "There's someone I must greet, all the way across the room! Enjoy the evening – " and he makes his escape.

"Accomplished man, but what a..." Lt. Sulu drops his manners and grumbles something impolite.

"Trust me, handsome: I wasn't even tempted. Can't play good softball in the snow, and I'd only travel to a cold place like that if you came along to warm me up." Clasping his arm, you lean against his side, feeling his body relax. Improper though it is, he presses a quick kiss to your temple.

Seating arrangements keep you separated, two people apart; for the sake of protocol you follow the rules. As you smile politely at a different Federation official and pick up a fifth slice of grilled pineapple – an indulgence you can't resist – you see Hikaru considering an assortment of liquor on a tray atop a robotic server. Recalling his earlier comment about the overly relaxing physical effects of alcohol, you look away and resign yourself to a night of sound sleep and nothing more when he considers a small glass.

Fortunately you mask your reaction so that the Federation official won't think it's her you're disappointed in. An abstinent night is not the worst thing that could happen. Truth be told, you need more sleep. Sharing a bed with Hikaru will still be enjoyable because he cuddles so well.

But bed doesn't happen right away. Though they're all aware of the need to prepare for the return shuttle to the _Enterprise_  in the morning _,_  crew mates can't agree on an early bedtime. Everyone wants just a little more social time in this different environment. Hikaru surprises the  _Enterprise crew mates_  by suggesting a gathering in the hotel suite.

He asks you first. "Cyme, is it okay with you if they come over?"

"You rented the suite, Hikaru; you decide."

"Maybe I rented it but I asked you to stay with me. Our space. We decide _together._ "

"Oh." For just a moment, your heart thumps a little harder; then you touch his hand. " Yes, let's make the best of the time we've got as crew. Let's not stay up too late tonight, though; you'll be back on the bridge soon and you need rest."

"Thanks, babe," he says, and circulates among crew mates to extend the invitation.

…

_**Back in the Hotel Suite** _

_Suggested music: _Titus 12,"Don't Move Ya Dial (Feat. Bobo)";_ De La Soul, "Say No Go (Say No Dope Mix)"_

Hikaru enjoys the role of host, refilling drinks and putting people at ease in his temporary territory. To set a relaxed mood you order a small box of scented candles from the concierge computer and place them around the main room. Although open flame is possible in the closed, oxygen-infused environment of spaceships it is a safety hazard; nobody wants to deal with a fire on a ship. Candles remain an entertaining treat for many Starfleet personnel. People glance around curiously at the lavish hotel suite, but such an anonymous space holds no visual clues about Hikaru's involvement with you, and your bedroom door is firmly closed.

Not everyone accepts the invitation or stays very long. Rob, the superiorofficer who thinks you aren't worth Lt. Sulu's time is absent; you don't miss him. But Kirk stays for sixty minutes, and Nyota, Spock, McCoy, and other crew mates remain for a full ninety.

Spock is curious about your method of roasting and seasoning cut vegetables in the kitchen's functioning oven – at your request, room service delivers a small basket of tubers and root vegetables available throughout the Federation – for party snacks. He eats several pieces, reminding you that there were four vegetarian main dishes to sample at tonight's Federation dinner, compared to at least ten dishes containing meat and other things vegetarians would not choose.

The Vulcan First Officer listens intently to your description of tending the plants during summers with little rain. "Many could be fed through the application of such methods," he says. His expression – there's no broad emotion but you detect  _something,_ a hint of earnestness - suggests that Spock thinks of food supplies for the settlement of New Vulcan, aware of his responsibilities to the survivors even while he's devoted to the five-year mission.

"Such methods work best on prairie, Mr. Spock, but I'd be willing to share what I know with anyone who finds it useful. Some of the refugees from Spadix-12 could tell you much more. Knowledge of food cultivation and practical household skills are admired on my planet, and people like to share skills."

Dr. McCoy and a few other crew mates drink and mutter theories about the fate of Spadix-12, while others use the time to talk about anything except combat and missions. Captain Jim Kirk nurses a weak cocktail, more ice than spirits, and listens. He watches much, says little, occasionally deflecting and deep questions with the disarming Kirk smile.

Conscious of the mission ahead, nobody suggests visiting a dance club tonight...but in a hotel suite this size, why not play music through the integrated media system to give everyone a boost of energy while you all clean up? Music thumps through wall panels in the combination open-plan kitchen and dining room – not too loud, as Starfleet crew are careful about respecting others in connected spaces.

Because he's off duty, and because the suite's begun to feel like a real home over the past few days, and maybe just because he feels so comfortable with you and the people who have stayed so late, Hikaru interrupts the cleanup to dance with you in a mildly scandalous fashion. Close enough behind you to touch, he wraps an arm around your waist and distracts you while you load glasses into the dish cleaning unit. Laughing, you rock your hips in time with his. You lean back against his chest with a small plate in one hand and a spatula in the other, traveling across the floor with him, turning, changing places. Everyone sees; people smile. Relaxed, you don't worry. It feels like something you'd do in a real home together, somewhere, if you ever had one.

Soon people are saying _thank you_  and leaving. McCoy covers a yawn and stretches. "Goodnight, y'all. Sleep tight and I'll see you at the crack of dawn."

All of the other guests are gone, and the doctor hasn't opened the door to the corridor yet. Hikaru glances at you, then turns to Dr. McCoy.

"Uh, Len, as soon as we're back aboard I need to make a confidential appointment with you. For psych. Nightmares, specifically." As soon as you hear the words you put an arm around his shoulders, offering silent support.

Instantly, Dr. McCoy's alert, reaching for a small medical scanner in his pocket. "How bad? Would a hypospray help you tonight?"

"No, but thank you. Cyme's here so I don't think I'll need it _tonight_ , but...yes, I do want help later."

Does Hikaru expect to sleep alone when you're back aboard? Suddenly you don't want an answer to that question, only the comfort of these last few hours together.

"All right, I understand." Dr. McCoy makes a note in his communicator. "Cyme, you seem to be good for Sulu but don't you let  _yourself_ get too stressed takin' care of him. Both of you are important to the _Enterprise_. Y'all turn in and get some rest now, y'hear?"

"Thank you, Doctor. Hope you'll rest well too. Goodnight."

Hikaru turns to you as he seals the door, and you kiss his cheek. "Let's get some rest now."

Kissing you back, he holds both of your hands in his. In the dim light he's nicely disheveled, the top buttons of his vest undone, necktie missing, shirt collar open, his hair loosened from its neatly combed shape after he ran his hand over it. When Hikaru looks like this it makes your hands want to wander.

"We've still got those candles," he says. " Do you want to sleep, or...?"

* * *

 _Akkan =_ Japanese. Translation: "villain", but also "the best part".

Thank you for reading! Just a few more chapters to go. Please take a moment to post a review or comment if you feel moved to respond to this story. Your time is appreciated.


	20. Hold

**It's Not the Liquor Talking**

**A STXI Hikaru Sulu fanfic by Zizi West**

 

**Chapter 20: Hold**

 

Disclaimer: I don't own _Star Trek_ or the character of Hikaru Sulu. All original characters, narratives, concepts, and content are mine. Warning: some sexual interaction.

 

_**At the hotel suite, after the party** _

_Suggested music: Irma Thomas, “I Need Your Love So Bad”_

…

 

Together, you gather the candles inside their little glass cups and arrange them on tables and shelves around the bedroom.

 

“Something special for our last night here, because we can't light fires in space.” One corner of his mouth tilts up. “I want you to be able to see while I touch you.”

 

“Mmm.” Feeling your heartbeat increase, you smile back at him across the bed that separates you. “Better place them a safe distance from the bed in case we get energetic.” The candles have an appealing scent: warm and spicy, like cinnamon blended with some subtle, unfamiliar musk.

 

As Hikaru unbuttons his vest, he yawns and tries to stifle it.

 

“Tired, handsome?”

 

“No, I'm fine.” He stands up straight, shoulders back. “ I'll be ready in a few minutes.”

 

Separately, each of you washes and prepares for bed. Anticipation makes you smile as you imagine touching his face, his chest, the small of his back, the places behind his knees. When you return to the bedroom it seems like a new world.

 

Velvety darkness surrounds the bed, an island lit by golden candlelight. Naked, Hikaru rises from a reclining position to kneel in the bed's center, sitting back on his heels and looking at you. Unconsciously you mirror his position, kneeling on the mattress and facing him. Night sounds of the town enter the room from the slightly open window, but you're so aware of him that you think you hear his breathing. His gaze moves over your body, but he doesn't immediately pull off the towel you've wrapped around yourself. Instead he leans forward to kiss you.

 

At first only your lips touch; then his strong warrior's hands carefully cradle your face and he deepens the kiss, taking his time. You tease his mouth in return, touching your tongue to his before returning to softer kisses. Hikaru sighs and you open your eyes to see a new expression on his face. You've already seen him look lustful, excited, ecstatic, sated. This is different.

 

“My Cyme-chan,” he whispers. Even if you didn't already recognize the affectionate Japanese suffix, the tone of his voice translates it.

 

“Sweet, strong Hikaru,” you reply, and he smiles as he places one arm behind your back to guide you down onto the bed. Suddenly the towel feels too thick and you want it off, but the kisses he's placing on your skin remind you to be patient.

 

Moments of fantasy flared to life at odd moments during the day. What if you and Hikaru were alone on a beach at sunrise or under starlight, running nude into the surf? What if you'd sat together at the Federation dinner and he touched your thigh under the table, then pulled you into a closet or empty conference room? Of course you would never do such improper, public things...well, maybe the beach, yes. Having your feelings returned loosens your imagination. You didn't expect Hikaru to approach you the way he has tonight but now you don't need to dream for a little while.

 

“Treasure...” A slight rawness changes the sound of his voice and his hands fumble a little as he unwraps the towel. “When you look at me the way you do now, I'm all yours.”

 

“Only at times like this?” you murmur, reaching for him. Hikaru moans with pleasure as you kiss his neck, suck his nipple, lick the backs of his knees. His physical response is slower than usual but you can't let it worry about it too much; maybe it's just part of this different feeling tonight. Instead you keep trying: stroking, moving, pleasing.

 

Golden candlelight makes his chest gleam as he groans, stops what you're doing, and eases you onto your back.

 

“My turn now. I want to bite your thigh first, in that place where you're so sensitive.” Strong white teeth apply just the right amount of pressure and your hips jerk upward. “Ooh, _nice_ response, babe. _Told_ you I'd remember. Can I use my tongue this time?”

 

“Please, before I lose my... _aaahh_.”

 

“Such strong thighs, and look how they open for me. How soft you are here...and here...Let me taste you again?”

 

Accepting your whimper as a _yes,_ he lets his mouth and hands take over. Only a few minutes pass before your body, already primed by sensual thoughts, gives in to the stimulation. Hikaru makes a satisfied, purring sound as you tremble and cry out. “Good,” he says, holding your hands in his. “Cyme-chan...” he kisses you again.

 

Everything should lead the two of you in the right direction. The candles, the sounds of your combined breathing in the quiet room, warm skin and wet tongues all help to set a sensual mood. Desire almost beats fatigue... _almost_. His penis is heavy, but not hard when he moves between your thighs, and it stays that way.

 

Groaning in frustration, Hikaru rolls onto his back. “Sorry, babe. I want you, but I just can't get...”

 

“Sweetie, it's all right. Don't force it.” A muscle jumps in your thigh, as if protesting the sudden denial, but you take a deep breath and keep your voice calm. “We had a long day after a late night, and we're both tired.”

 

“Yeah, but I should be able to do this anyway. All day long, thoughts about being alone with you were in and out of my head, and now --” he makes a dismissive sound, matched by a gesture. “Nothing.”

 

“Did you drink much tonight?”

 

Hikaru turns his head, annoyed. “That's what you think caused this?”

 

“I saw the liquor cart near you at the Federation dinner. No judgment here, just wondering. Just because I'm not drinking doesn't mean that you can't.”

 

“Go easy on me. No, I did _not_ drink. I know my limits. Why put myself at a disadvantage?” He notices your hurt expression and clasps your hand. “Cyme, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm not angry at _you_ , just frustrated because I wanted this time to be...special. Please forgive me; I shouldn't speak to you that way.”

 

Every man has his own pride, and he may worry about things that don't necessarily bother you. “I forgive you. Listen.” While you talk, you stroke his face and shoulder with soothing touches. “Dancing in the kitchen with you was special; it made me happy. Watching over you while you slept on the the beach was special. So was talking about the plant database. Being trusted enough to hold your katana and even practice with it? All the respect, patience, and consideration you've shown me since that first night – I can't really explain how you've made me feel. Everything I like about you goes far beyond your body. My body isn't always going to be ready either. Nobody's perfect, all right?”

 

Hikaru listens and watches while you speak, then turns on his side and embraces you. His lips move against your neck. The words are muffled, and he doesn't repeat them before he eases his grip so that you can face each other.

 

“Cyme, tell me something. McCoy said you're good for me, and I agree with him. But what do _you_ think? Am I good for _you_?”

 

You stroke Hikaru's hair and trace the edges of his pointed sideburns. “Yes, sweet man. It would take a long time to explain why, but I'm glad you're in my life.”

 

Hikaru watches you for a long moment, but says nothing more. Finally he kisses you with lips parted and settles against your shoulder. His jaw moves as he attempts to hold back a yawn.

 

“Rest now, my brave pilot.” You return the kiss, and his body relaxes against yours. The light breeze from the screened window carries quiet night sounds and the scent of the sea into the darkened bedroom. Barely two minutes pass before he falls into the kind of deep, efficient grab-it-when-you-can sleep practiced by Starfleet members and some of the farm workers you knew back on Spadix-12. Rapidly, you follow him into unconsciousness despite your jumbled emotions. Sleep is all you do together that night after those drowsy kisses.

 

...

 

Dawn arrives, and you roll out of spoon position to face Hikaru. One last time in the big hotel bed, he pulls you close in a full-body embrace. Both of you shower, dress, and pack your traveling bags efficiently and quietly, checking each other over to make sure you've both got your communicators and other required gear. It's a habit acquired from working together within Starfleet systems, refined now by your closeness over the past few days. After a final glance at the sea through the suite's broad picture window, you leave the comfortable, impersonal haven after agreeing to pay equally into a large tip for the hotel's humanoid cleaning staff. No other guests use the elevator at this early hour; you and Hikaru lean into each other, arms around each others' waists, your temple pressed to his cheek, all the way down to the lobby.

 

At the spaceport, Federation ships hover or slowly fly overhead at such low altitudes that you can see details of painted ship names and numbers. Some spacecraft and shuttles are so close that you can see passengers or crew looking out through transparent aluminum portholes; you and Hikaru wave back at the few children traveling, destined to join their families on larger Federation ships and bases. The wind becomes stronger and you seal up your jacket, your sense alive with the familiar excitement you always have when moving between planets or space locations returns, as does a sense of unity among Starfleet crewmates. A new feeling blends with your duty alertness: you're about to head back into space with Hikaru in your life. Crewmates form a queue, waiting their turn to step through scanners checking for potentially hazardous organic materials entering the spaceport departure terminal. While you wait your mind wanders; Hikaru hasn't mentioned access to his cabin, though you're ready to grant him access to yours. This is hardly the place to discuss it, so it must wait until you're back aboard.

 

Suddenly the weather changes. Daylight struggles to break through thick, rolling clouds above the broad airfield. Unsurprisingly, a voice on a loudspeaker announces a launch delay for the shuttles which will return your away team to the _Enterprise_. Crewmates settle down in the terminal to wait, some chatting, a few sleeping, others checking padds in preparation for their return to ship duty. You use the time to purchase a few souvenir gifts from the spaceport shop for your colleagues who remained aboard the ship. Among the purchases are freeze-dried coffee for Lieutenant Charlene Masters and a tea containing herbs beneficial to singers for Kevin Riley. Candies and a puzzle toy will be nice surprises for your sister's children, whom you hope to soon see safely housed in a refugee zone established by the Federation on Spadix-12. Choosing a gift for Sis baffles you, so you decide to wait and ask her. It's impossible to buy what you truly want for her: peace of mind.

 

Hikaru sits drawing on his padd as you approach, so distracted that he looks up only when you take the seat beside him.

 

“Oh – hi, Longlegs.” A bit too casually, he covers the padd's screen with his hand. “Find anything special?”

 

“Yes, some nice things for crewmates and Sis' kids. Are you doing confidential work, or brainstorming about the botanical database?”

 

“Uh, neither, really.”

 

“Sorry, I won't pry.”

 

Blushing, Hikaru glances around, then speaks quietly. “It's okay; it's about you anyway. Nothing professional, just scratchings.”

 

He pulls away his hand to reveal a pair of cartoon kitsune, the same pair as in the drawing he made for you earlier. Their bodies and tails are drawn as spare, strong lines. The foxes bound through a series of loosely sketched adventures on the padd's screen. They scamper through a field of flowers, drink tea together, and cuddle below a crescent moon.

 

“Oh, Hikaru.” Maybe the images aren't high art, but for you they are a wonder; you clasp his arm, sliding your fingers into his sleeve so that you can touch his skin. Quickly you blink back the tears pooling in your eyes; you aren't ready to explain why the images make you happy enough to cry.

 

“Your drawings are charming and beautiful. Will you please send them to me so that I can save the file and look at them as many times as I want?”

 

He smiles and strokes the back of your hand. “Anything you want, treasure.”

 

Captain Kirk strides over to talk and Hikaru closes the drawing program on his padd. Soon the sky clears and the _Enterprise_ crew board the shuttle. As passengers, no one separates by rank so Hikaru finds a place where you can sit together and strap yourselves in. Calluses on his dominant hand create a pleasant friction against your palm as the craft takes flight. Perhaps the bunk in Hikaru's bridge officer's quarters aboard ship is wide enough for two, and you can again indulge in the slow, passionate touching of last night. Maybe you can just cuddle and talk for a while each day, learning more about each other; you'd like that. Honestly, you already yearn for it.

 

Things don't have to change between you and Hikaru just because you're back aboard the _Enterprise_ , right?

 

But they do.

 

* * *

 

 

Thank you for reading, and for your patience in waiting between chapters! Best Happy New Year wishes to all reading this during December.

Disclaimer: I don't own _Star Trek_ or the character of Hikaru Sulu. All original characters, narratives, concepts, and content are mine. 


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